


The Revolution of Configured Stars

by irisbleufic



Series: Configured Stars [6]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Season/Series 04, Alternate Season/Series 05, Arkham Asylum, Asexual Character, Asexual Spectrum, Bickering, Brothers, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Kink, Dark Comedy, Deception, Demisexual Character, Demisexuality, Disability, Do not translate without permission or copy to another site/app, Escape, Established Relationship, Existential Angst, F/F, Family Drama, Gotham Sirens, Hiding, Humor, Intersex Character, Intrigue, Jerome Valeska Lives, Kink Negotiation, Knifeplay, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, M/M, Mad Science, Narrow Escapes, Neurodiversity, Nonbinary Character, Other, Plotting, Post-Apocalypse, Resurrection, Reunions, Reveal, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, Teamwork, The Rogues Gallery (Batman), Trans Character, Twins, Vendettas, Villains, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: “Who’s there?” [Bruce] asked, hopefully loud enough for the perpetrator to hear him and respond.“That was fun while it lasted,” Jeremiah sighed dramatically, pulling the covers over his head.“I guess Barbara wasn’t lying the night you two got us into this mess, was she? Get dressed!”Bruce couldn’t believe Oswald had gone to the trouble of harassing them in person. He got out of bed, gathering their clothing from where they’d draped it over the room’s lone armchair the night before. Jeremiah made a pitiful noise when Bruce dropped his things on top of his head.“If it was anyone else,” Bruce said, stumbling into his bottom layers, “I’d suggest taking our time. He’s going to hold us accountable for everything from the bridges to Jerome and Five.”“Holdmeaccountable, you mean,” Jeremiah shot back, kicking off the covers. He moodily gathered his clothes off the floor, dressing at a slower pace. “I’m a dead man.”
Relationships: 514A & Bruce Wayne, 514A & Jerome Valeska, 514A/Jerome Valeska, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Jeremiah Valeska, Ecco & Jeremiah Valeska, Ecco/Ivy Pepper (Gotham), Ivy Pepper & Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Valeska & Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Jeri & Jerome Valeska, Jim Gordon & Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon & Jerome Valeska, Oswald Cobblepot & Jim Gordon, Oswald Cobblepot & Olga (Gotham), Oswald Cobblepot & Victor Zsasz, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Selina Kyle & Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bridgit Pike, Tabitha Galavan/Barbara Kean
Series: Configured Stars [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1388944
Comments: 62
Kudos: 66





	1. The Eagle

Jerome was no stranger to the stage. He’d graced any number of them from birth to death, and then from rebirth to death. This was his first major appearance since his _second_ rebirth around two months ago. His stiff knee wasn’t appreciating how rough the boards were.

Five pulled Jerome back to his feet, the moment no longer suspended, and kissed him giddily. 

“How’s that for our public debut?” asked Jerome, breathless, tugging Five closer against him.

“We should go down and mingle,” Five said in his ear, scarcely audible above the applause.

Jerome twirled Five so that they spun apart, holding hands, and bowed when Five curtseyed.

Jeri was beckoning from the edge of the stage. “Better come here before they haul ya down.”

Jerome released Five’s hand, jumped down with a wince, and turned to help Five descend.

“Is there anybody we oughta know about?” Jerome asked, keeping Five close with an arm around his waist. “Folks who might try somethin’ untoward, in either the grabby _or_ stabby sense?”

“Hope not. They know I’ll kill ’em,” Jeri said, waving one of the drink servers over. “This side of the tray’s got Coke with rum and 7-Up with vodka, the other side’s got…well, same shit, just without the booze. You want anything more complicated, go ask Avi at the bar.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” Five said to Jeri, grabbing a Coke for Jerome and a spiked 7-Up for himself.

“Ma’am? Ugh. Who am I, your grandma?” Jeri said, patting Five on the shoulder. “Get lost.”

Jerome saluted her, venturing into the crowd before Five could say something tetchy he’d regret. While Jerome waved and rattled off one-liner greetings and praise-laden introductions of Five to their admirers, Five silently sipped his drink and never did more than nod.

“You doin’ okay, princess?” Jerome asked after half an hour, realizing they’d made it as far as the bar. He pulled out a stool and helped Five onto it, handing the androgynous bartender Five’s empty glass. “We’re gonna need another one of these, or whatever my baby wants.”

“Sure,” said Avi, offering Five a wry half-smile. “Loud in here, huh. What’ll it be, Miss Five?”

“Mango Collins,” Five said, darting his eyes toward the bottles behind Avi. “Use Grey Goose.”

“Still like the snobby shit?” Avi asked. “Can’t make do with Stoli and Tito’s like the rest of us?”

“It’s French,” Five protested, appealing to Jerome before Jerome could ask what was going on.

“That’ll be the Wayne genes talkin’,” Jerome told Avi. “Fortunately, taste’s all he got from ’em.”

“Don’t I know it,” Avi replied, pouring with a heavy hand. “Nothin’ but top shelf for this one.”

Five punched Jerome in the arm. “Avi used to tend bar at the Foxglove. They left a year ago.”

“Real nice to meet one of your friends, precious,” Jerome said, kissing Five’s cheek. He turned to Avi, admiring the way their flashy nose-ring stood out against their dark skin. “How’s workin’ for one of mine?”

“Jeri’s a decent boss,” Avi said, reaching for the mango puree. “Fair. Never shorts us on tips.”

“Useful to know,” Five replied, turning to Jerome, “in case I have to work here to support us.”

“Nah ah ah, Miss Thing,” Jeri said from behind them. “That ain’t how this works. You’re Narrows royalty now. D’you think your young man here’s worked a day in his life? I gotcha covered.”

“We may have access to Bruce’s penthouse, but we don’t have access to his fortune,” Five said, waxing slightly belligerent as he took his cocktail from Avi. “You can’t support us forever.”

Jerome was too busy having a reflective crisis to follow the conversation. The only work he’d done was unpaid, and not even that worthwhile as far as benefits went. It went without saying that the circus had sucked, but working for Galavan? Not that great in hindsight.

“I can do whatever the hell I want,” Jeri shot back, “up to and including shelter you damn kids.”

“Fine,” Five said, casting a sidelong glance at Avi, “but I’m difficult. Just ask your bartender.”

“J-man here is pretty difficult, too,” Jeri shot back. “Won’t even fuckin’ stay dead. Think I don’t know what I’m gettin’ myself into?” She winked at Avi. “Think you two are tougher to handle than mouthy staff and runnin’ a club that barely breaks even?”

“Don’t listen to her about the barely breaking even,” Avi said, wiping down the bar in front of them. “The building’s been paid off for years. She also inherited this nice, cushy cabin up in Pennsylvania.”

“Yeah, in case I get sick of the unmitigated sass here in Jersey,” Jeri yawned. “Nice try. It’s this creepy old hunting camp. I haven’t made any improvements except fudging the paperwork.”

Jerome whistled. “Hidden depths,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “What’s the deed say?”

“Vermont,” Avi laughed, “which is why I rib her about it being cushy. _Fake_ cushy.”

“Shut the fuck up about my safe house in PA and/or VT!” Jeri groused, waving them all off. 

Five, already halfway through the Mango Collins, set his glass on the bar and wound his arms around Jerome’s neck. He hooked the heels of his Docs behind Jerome’s knees, dragging him forward. Whistling, Avi pretended to cover their eyes and went to serve someone else.

“Did you ever meet Jeri before the first time we were here?” Five asked, his lips an inch from Jerome’s. “If not, her loyalty to you is impressive.”

“Never,” Jerome admitted, setting his Coke aside so he could stroke up and down Five’s tulle-covered thighs. “Cool of her to keep the faith.”

Five took hold of Jerome’s wrists, guiding Jerome’s hands beneath his skirt. “Yes. Very.”

Jerome’s breath hitched as Five spread his legs, scooted forward, and pressed them flush.

“Slow down, precious,” he murmured against Five’s pulse-point, nipping his earlobe. “That’s an awful lot of vodka in, uh, not much time.”

“I’m not drunk,” Five whispered, rolling his hips against Jerome. “My tolerance is high.”

Tipping Five’s chin up, Jerome kissed him lazily. “ _Mmm_. Just makin’ sure.”

“Oh,” Five said softly, suddenly frozen in Jerome’s arms. “Sorry, I didn’t—is this not—”

“S’good,” Jerome mumbled. He deepened the kiss, stroking Five’s lower back. “Tease.” 

Five sucked in his breath, biting Jerome’s lower lip just shy of drawing blood. “So what?”

“ _So_ ,” Jerome countered, feeling his cheeks heat as he moved against Five, “what now?”

Glancing around the noisy, strobe-lit space, Five tilted his head toward the hall just past the bar.

“Do you want—” he swallowed, blushing as fiercely as Jerome “—to, um…find someplace…”

Jerome hauled Five off the stool and led him away from the bar, his pulse racing. “Yeah.”

Once they reached the end of the hall, Five led them up the staircase, which— _oh_ , Jerome remembered the way now. Jeri’s apartment was up there. They’d crashed in her spare room after killing Strange and fleeing from Arkham.

The door to the apartment was locked, so Jerome backed Five against the wall in a shadowed corner of the landing. Five wrapped one leg around him with an impatient hiss, so Jerome hiked Five’s knee up a little higher and pinned him.

“Fuck,” Five panted, reacting as the song ending downstairs bled into the next. “Love this one.”

“Love _you_ ,” Jerome groaned, low and urgent in Five’s ear. “Shoulda said it when—”

“You did,” Five insisted, awkwardly wedging his hands between them, unzipping Jerome’s trousers. “Not in so many words, but…” He untucked Jerome’s shirt, and then unbuttoned Jerome’s boxers.

Jerome bunched up Five’s gauzy skirt, finding he liked the song just fine for what they were doing. It was French, too, just like Five’s fancy vodka. The beat and vocals were intoxicating.

“Wanna make you feel good,” Jerome breathed in Five’s ear, shivering when he realized they were both finally exposed enough, skin on skin, to make grinding worth their while. “That’s it.”

“You do,” Five managed, back of his head hitting the wall as Jerome lifted him. “ _Fuck_.”

Jerome couldn’t last any longer than usual. He was overwhelmed at the sound of Five’s breathy curses, at the feel of Five’s warm belly against him as his climax knocked the breath from his heaving lungs.

Five shuddered as he met Jerome’s next thrust, heart hammering, and then went still. He let his head fall forward, gasping as the tension drained from him, clinging to Jerome so sweetly it was disarming.

“What’s, uh,” Jerome managed, grateful they were supporting each other’s weight, as shaky as their legs were. “The name of…” He kissed Five adoringly, adjusting his hold on Five’s waist. “This?”

“Of what?” Five asked, hazy and flushed. “Oh. _Dernière Danse_ , I forget which remix.”

“Remind me not to knock your French stuff,” Jerome said, nuzzling Five’s hair. “Feels nice?”

“Amazing,” Five yawned, resting his head against Jerome’s shoulder. “Think Jeri’ll let us…”

“Leave the party early? I bet,” Jerome said, pulling the handkerchief from his blazer pocket.

“You’re more of a mess,” Five said, sliding out from between Jerome and the wall, putting his underwear and skirt back in some semblance of order. “I’ll see if I can find— _shit_ , somebody’s on the stairs.” He stepped between Jerome and whoever was coming, giving Jerome just enough time to fasten his trousers and make sure his untucked shirt covered the worst.

Jeri studied them as she made it onto the landing, folding her arms as she cautiously approached.

“I’m not even gonna ask what’s goin’ on. Don’t have to.” She dug in her pockets, came up with a ring of keys, and unlocked the apartment door. “Lucky thing you were up here, though. Got some news you might not wanna hear. Then again, what do I know.”

Jerome couldn’t meet Jeri’s eyes while she held the door open. He let Five drag him inside, only turning when Jeri followed and let the door slam behind them. She looked far too troubled to just write off.

“It’s Bruce and Jeremiah, isn’t it?” Five asked, letting his disheveled hair down. “They escaped?”

Jeri nodded reluctantly. “My guys chased ’em as far as Penguin’s borders. Traded some gunfire, but didn’t hit anybody. I’d say it’s a miracle they got out of that alley in the first place, but…nah. Bruce can fight, and your brother’s faster than he looks.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jerome said, sliding his arms around Five’s waist when Five deliberately backed into him. “Trap him between a rock and a hard place, and he’ll weasel his way out. Been like that since we were kids.”

“Wait, Penguin’s borders?” Five echoed, belatedly processing. “There are guards everywhere.”

“Yup,” Jeri said, finally meeting both of their eyes. “They got intercepted and escorted away.”

“Penguin’s too smart to execute them,” Five concluded wearily. “They’re valuable hostages.”

Jeri just nodded, turning for the door. “You two remember where the spare room is. G’night.”

Recognizing that Five was at risk of growing irritable, Jerome scooped him off his feet as soon as Jeri was gone. He carried Five down the hall, staggering by the time he got them to the bed they’d shared not that long ago. He dropped Five with a grunt.

“We left some stuff here,” Jerome said, stripping while Five twisted unlatched the window, forced it open, and then undressed himself. He flopped down on the bed. “Penny for your thoughts, princess?”

“Look,” Five said, leaning into the chilly air, mapping a constellation. “Aquila. The eagle.”

Jerome scooted until the stars Five was pointing at were visible. “I don’t remember that one.”

“It’s not popular,” Five admitted, lying down beside him. “Not like the Dippers and Orion.”

Jerome scratched his chest, rolling to face Five. “Hey, where’d you learn this nerd stuff?”

“They let me have books in the lab,” Five said, extracting the tiara from what was left of the braid around his head. “I read a lot while I stayed with the Court of Owls, and then while I was at Wayne Manor.” He dropped the valuable accessory on the floor, scooting closer to Jerome. “Astronomy isn’t nerd stuff. Sounds like even you learned some of it.”

“Yeah,” Jerome agreed, pulling Five into his arms. “That...that _traitor_ used to read about it, and then we’d...” He closed his eyes, comforted when Five pressed their foreheads together. “We’d lie outside after dark with the Grayson brats, and he’d teach us the names.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Five murmured. “I don’t like talking about some things.”

Jerome opened his eyes, tapping the tip of Five’s nose. “You make it easier, sweet pea. I want you to know.” He ran his fingers down the scar traversing Five’s spine. “Where I was, where I’m going.

Five nodded, as if he understood. “I want you to know about my life, too. It’s important, right?”

“I’ll kill the rest of them that hurt you,” Jerome said. “Strange down, how many more to go?”

Five shrugged, tucking his head against Jerome’s shoulder. He exhaled contentedly, stretching.

“Peabody’s already dead. Ms. Mooney killed her. None of the rest of Strange’s staff were allowed near me, so I never learned their names.”

“Then we’ve gotta focus on Bruce,” Jerome said, combing his fingers through the wild tangle of Five’s hair. “He’s as tough to get rid of as I am.”

“What about your brother?” Five asked. “I want to kill him for you.”

Jerome kissed Five’s forehead, at a loss in the face of such devotion.

“I wanna kill Bruce for you, but we’re not likely to find them separate from each other, are we? We’ll have to share the job again. Date night?”

“Best kind,” Five said, running his fingers from Jerome’s elbow to his shoulder. “I enjoyed this evening, though, even if we didn’t kill anyone.”

“Chin up, princess,” Jerome said. “Plenty of murder and mayhem around here. Narrows life.”

“It’s dangerous out there,” Five said. “Normally, I wouldn’t care about something like that, but...” He shook his head adamantly. “I can’t lose you. Maybe we should let Jeri’s crew worry about it.”

Realizing how chilly the room had grown, Jerome disentangled himself from Five and closed the window. After that, he coaxed Five to crawl up so they could lie in the right direction on the mattress and huddle under the covers. They did nothing but kiss for a while.

“Did you mean what you said?” Five asked at length, running his fingers through Jerome’s hair.

“I said a lot of things I meant,” Jerome replied, realizing he’d gone half-hard against Five’s hip.

“I meant everything I said, too,” Five said, rubbing against him, catching up in no time at all.

Jerome had discovered, since getting involved with Five, that his baseline was once to a few times a week—and fairly spread out, too. Five’s sex drive was higher, but followed the same rules. Jerome rarely minded pleasing Five when he didn’t require reciprocation.

It hadn’t been like this for either of them before. Five had even said as much. Connection and trust, two of the three things Jerome had grown to regard with spite, comprised the common denominator.

As for the third? Five alone was deserving of the exception he’d risked everything to make.

“What are the chances we’re going to survive?” Five whispered. “The city’s falling into ruin.”

“I’m not a gambling man, I mean…not unless it’s Russian roulette,” Jerome sighed, intensity of emotion giving him pause. “I usually luck out. With our track record combined? Maybe sixty-forty.”

Five mulled that over for a few seconds, whining when their bodies lost contact. “Bad odds.”

Jerome squirmed, making sure both of them had sufficient leverage. They moved lazily now, nothing of the rush they’d been in before.

“We’ll be together regardless. Remember what I said when Strange had us locked up?”

Five nodded, his utterances breathy and restless. “You could think of worse ways to go.”

“I _already_ went in a couple worse ways, if you think about it,” Jerome deadpanned.

Five laughed, making Jerome’s heart clench. “So did I, maybe. I have no way of knowing, when they did stuff in the lab, if they had to revive me.”

“That’s a bombshell, babe,” Jerome told him, overcome with fondness that eclipsed even physical pleasure. “Revised estimate is seventy-thirty.”

“Decent,” Five countered, rolling Jerome onto his back. “Maybe we need to start thinking about our future. Don’t wanna stay here indefinitely.”

Gazing up at him, Jerome touched the relatively fresh bite-scar on Five’s collarbone. He’d given Five that, but not before Five had given him one.

“We’re resourceful, precious. If we can’t go back to the penthouse, we’ll find someplace else.”

“Thirty percent says we might die,” Five reminded him, eyes falling shut when Jerome gave Five’s erection a few strokes. “Contingencies?”

“It’s not like either of us has any reason to draw up a will,” Jerome chuckled, darkly amused.

“Not…materially,” Five agreed, getting a hand around Jerome in retaliation. “I meant more…”

Neither of them spoke for a while, focused on making the encounter last. Five had worked out exactly when to back off, increasing the ache in Jerome’s chest as much as the one beneath his touch. Five eased Jerome’s hand off himself, too, shaking with the strain.

“There’s this…travel-thing of lotion,” Five panted, damp with sweat almost everywhere Jerome trailed his touch. “Bathroom cupboard.”

Jerome felt a surge of panic disrupt his increasingly urgent need to get off. “That so, princess?”

Five seemed to understand the issue almost instantly. He bent down and kissed Jerome’s neck.

“Remember the thing _I_ said?” he prompted. “Not when we were in Arkham, but…last time we were here. When we were…just like this.”

“You said you’d ride me, but only after you were, uh, inside me first?” Jerome asked uncertainly.

“Dammit,” Five said. “Right. Scratch the last part. I’m gonna ride you anyway, if…you want?”

Jerome sucked in his breath, pulling Five down against him. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to!” Five protested in abject frustration. “So I’m asking if _you_ want me to do it, too!”

“I do,” Jerome shot back, “but maybe we should’ve thought twice about the edging! I won’t last.”

“Neither will I,” Five said, rolling off him and dashing to the bathroom before he could object.

Jerome was somewhat concerned when Five came back after only about ten minutes, wondering if that was anywhere near enough time for the kind of self-prep he abstractly understood that this endeavor might take. He opened his mouth to ask as much, but Five glared him into willing, silent submission and got right down to slicking him with the lotion.

Just when Jerome thought he might not make it to penetration, Five tossed the tube on the floor. He moved to straddle Jerome, supporting his weight on his knees as the mattress wobbled. Five’s sternness gentled.

“Remember, I can’t feel pain,” he said, reaching behind himself to grasp Jerome, fearless.

“I know,” Jerome said tautly, gut-punched at the feel of Five sinking down on him. “Five…”

Five tested the stability of his position, rising and then settling again, gasping in faint shock.

“It feels like… _ah_. It’s just pressure,” he faltered distractedly, “but maybe if I try this…”

Jerome held Five in place when sinking down completely drew a full-body tremor from him.

“If that’s good,” he panted, trembling beneath Five’s weight, “just stay right there, pretty baby.”

Five rocked in place, scarcely moving, and then folded forward, coming with a stifled whimper.

Jerome couldn’t even draw breath to say he was already there, too, coming so hard he felt dizzy. Blackout drunk wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to try, but if this was a blackout orgasm, count him _in_.

Lying there for a while in their own sticky mess didn’t even seem as bothersome as usual, especially not when Five didn’t seem finished. Jerome held him tight, awed. Were that many aftershocks normal?

“I was trying to make a point,” Five said after he’d finally gone quiet for a while. “Before.”

“About wanting to fuck?” Jerome bit his lip and held Five for all he was worth, terrified.

“About wanting to…” Five huffed in sheer frustration. “Do you want to marry me or not?”

Jerome never thought he’d feel such unabashed relief at somebody popping the question.

“There’s nothin’ I want more,” he said. “Circulation in my legs, maybe, but… _eh_. Overrated.”

Five burst out laughing, but there were tears in his eyes. “It might not be legally binding.”

Brushing Five’s damp cheeks, Jerome grinned at him. “Since when do we care about that?”


	2. The Hunter

Penguin’s stronghold was far quieter after dark than Bruce would have imagined. He and Jeremiah had been marched there and ushered inside. He’d been able to tell from Jeremiah’s borderline-comical facial expression that this had pushed him beyond irritation and into bafflement.

In the echoing marble atrium, Penguin’s footsoldiers had handed them over to an individual that Bruce hadn’t even realized was still in Penguin’s employ. During the moments it took the footsoldiers to file out, Olga had made a show of sternly inspecting them.

However, once the three of them were alone, Olga had removed a switchblade from her pocket and cut the plastic zip-ties binding Bruce’s and Jeremiah’s hands. She’d looked apologetic.

“For Oswald, image is everything,” Olga had explained, beckoning them to follow her up the spiral staircase. “Cannot have random people in street thinking he is soft, especially not—” she lowered her voice “—since he has taken Edward back. I show you to place you can sleep, _da_?”

“Yes,” Bruce had agreed, catching a tense glance from Jeremiah. “Thank you, Ms. Agapova.”

The guest room to which she’d shown them, formerly an official’s office, was kitted out with more amenities than Bruce would have expected. There was a lavish bed, as well as towels and a water pitcher for washing up. They were around the corner from a restroom that had probably been shared by various administrators when the building was still Gotham City Hall.

Jeremiah had stripped down, climbed into bed, and fallen asleep without so much as a word.

Bruce hadn’t been able to sleep, although he must’ve succeeded eventually, because now it was late morning. He didn’t have access to their clothing and watches, but he could tell from the way light filtered through the sheer ivory curtains, which were mismatched in length.

Jeremiah was already awake, studying Bruce with the most contrite expression he’d ever worn.

“About last night,” he said, fretfully subdued, “I should have told you what I was thinking.”

Bruce rolled over and kissed him, unashamed to express his sheer relief. “I was worried.”

“There’s no reason we should’ve gotten out of that scrape at Celestial Garden alive,” Jeremiah said, holding Bruce as if he feared they might be ripped apart. “I’m starting to believe in luck.”

“Watch out,” Bruce said, not even feeling guilty for indulging in a tease. “Next, it’ll be fate.”

Jeremiah shrugged, a wry lip-twist betraying his amusement. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Speaking of,” Bruce said, “I had no idea just _how_ strange until we saw them last night.”

Jeremiah’s eyes clouded with rage. “I don’t know how Jerome did it, but I’ll kill him myself.”

“How he came back a second time,” Bruce asked, trying to calm him, “or how he found Five?”

“Take your pick,” Jeremiah said bitterly, catching Bruce’s hand against his cheek, kissing it.

“I can’t confirm this,” Bruce replied, “but I suspect Hugo Strange had something to do with it. He’d been spotted around the city with Jervis Tetch and Jonathan Crane in the weeks leading up to sightings of Jerome and Five. You remember what Alfred passed along from Jim.”

“Yes, and Jim’s no closer to knowing how it fits together than we are,” Jeremiah reminded him.

Bruce kissed Jeremiah again, not especially inclined to think about that. “Jim will declare us fugitives again. We didn’t deliver on the promise we made. It’s just as well we’re here.”

“Rue the day being Penguin’s prisoner is preferable to being Gordon’s,” Jeremiah muttered.

Getting tangled in the sheets was unwise, given they didn’t know when Oswald would send someone for them, but Bruce was feeling contrary. They hadn’t had a moment to themselves since they’d returned from Switzerland and Fox had arranged them a covert flight out to the cut-off city. 

Sleeping at the precinct had been uncomfortable for Jeremiah for several reasons, not least the hostility from Jim’s team. Bruce hadn’t dared let Jeremiah out of his sight, right up until the moment Jim informed them that Jerome and Five had been spotted entering the Sirens.

“Depending on what happens, or where they send us,” Bruce began, “this might be our best—”

Jeremiah used his full weight to roll Bruce over, pinning him to the pillows with a bruising kiss.

“I want you, dear heart,” he said with that strange combination of tenderness and possessive fervor that Bruce hadn’t even had the sense to fear. “If that maid’s smart, she’ll keep checking back until we’re engaged in dull conversation.”

“If you’re saying she should listen at the door, she’s probably already doing that,” Bruce said.

“I hate that you’re speaking from experience,” Jeremiah replied, kissing from Bruce’s collarbone down to his belly. He’d fine-tuned his approach to the point of no-nonsense efficiency, but not without being a tease. “Not that Alfred had the chance to eavesdrop on anything like this, _but_ …”

“Shut up,” Bruce gasped, closing his eyes when Jeremiah started to suck him without warning.

Jeremiah did as he was told, repeatedly dragging his tongue over every sensitive spot Bruce had.

Their time alone at the chalet on Reschensee had deprived them of reasons to practice keeping quiet. Bruce couldn’t have prevented himself from pleading with Jeremiah anyway, each string of curses and repetition of Jeremiah’s name louder than the last.

Jeremiah wasn’t silent, either. He was multi-tasking on a level Bruce didn’t usually mind, but didn’t actively prefer in this moment. He wanted to hold Jeremiah, to get him off with the kind of careful touches to his hypersensitive flesh that left him wrecked.

“I’m— _fuck_ , I’m close,” Bruce panted, giving Jeremiah’s hair a sharp yank. “Come here.”

“Makes two of us,” Jeremiah rasped, pressing a worshipful kiss against Bruce’s belly. He crawled up and settled beside Bruce, moaning when Bruce put a hand on him. “Don’t _rush_ —”

“Jeremiah,” Bruce said, giving him one slow caress before pressing close, “I want you, too.”

The thought of someone listening to them like this, wrapped up in mutual release, didn’t bother Bruce as much as it might. He always finished faster when they timed it right, which meant he could watch Jeremiah’s expressions shift from one blissed-out moment to the next.

Drowsy and sticky in the aftermath, they were close to dozing off again when someone cleared their throat loudly outside the bedroom door. Bruce sat up, listening until it happened again.

“Who’s there?” he asked, hopefully loud enough for the perpetrator to hear him and respond.

“That was fun while it lasted,” Jeremiah sighed dramatically, pulling the covers over his head.

“I guess Barbara wasn’t lying the night you two got us into this mess, was she? Get dressed!”

Bruce couldn’t believe Oswald had gone to the trouble of harassing them in person. He got out of bed, gathering their clothing from where they’d draped it over the room’s lone armchair the night before. Jeremiah made a pitiful noise when Bruce dropped his things on top of his head.

“If it was anyone else,” Bruce said, stumbling into his bottom layers, “I’d suggest taking our time. He’s going to hold us accountable for everything from the bridges to Jerome and Five.”

“Hold _me_ accountable, you mean,” Jeremiah shot back, kicking off the covers. He moodily gathered his clothes off the floor, dressing at a slower pace. “I’m a dead man.”

“No, I mean us,” Bruce said, shrugging into his undershirt and pullover. “Now, he has absolute proof we’re together. Before, all he had was Barbara’s word that she saw us kiss.”

“Shut up,” Jeremiah said, perhaps stung Bruce had asked him to do just that less than an hour ago, “and help me with this. I won’t be able to do it fast enough unless—”

Bruce finished tying his boots and rushed to Jeremiah, taking over the knotting of his tie.

“Zsasz will be joining us if you’re not out of there in another two minutes!” Oswald spat.

“Let me handle him,” Bruce whispered, straightening Jeremiah’s collar and waistcoat.

“You’re welcome to try,” Jeremiah hissed, following Bruce to the door. “It’s not like I had much luck convincing him I couldn’t get the mayor to deliver fifty million dollars!”

Bruce emerged into the hall, keeping Jeremiah behind him, expecting Oswald would just spin on his heel and lead them downstairs. Instead, he found himself on high alert, shielding Jeremiah while Oswald studied them with warily piercing eyes.

“Oswald! What’s taking so long?” another familiar voice shouted from below. “Olga’s insisting that we can’t interrogate them until after breakfast!”

“Oh, for _fu_ —fine!” Oswald shouted, turning his back on them, starting down the stairs.

“Are we supposed to follow?” Jeremiah asked under his breath. “We could go back to bed.”

“I wish we could,” Bruce said, grabbing Jeremiah’s hand. “This way, we’ll at least get fed.”

They dashed to catch up with Oswald, hitting the bottom stair just as he crossed the marble atrium and took one of the hallways radiating out from it. At the end of the hall was an opulent function room that Bruce should’ve recognized from any number of banquets.

Oswald took his seat at the head of the table. Edward sat to his right, and Zsaz sat to his left.

Before Bruce could ask where he and Jeremiah were supposed to sit, Olga breezed in with a massive tea tray, just as efficient as Alfred. She indicated that Bruce should sit next to Edward, and then directed Jeremiah to sit directly across from him, next to Zsasz.

“I really should kill you, seeing as you’re more mouths to feed,” Oswald said, glancing from Bruce to Jeremiah, his gaze lingering before he shifted it back to Bruce. “You’ve trained him better than you ever managed to train the other one, I’ll give you that.”

Bruce caught Jeremiah’s wide-eyed, furious expression just in time to wordlessly implore him not to take the bait. “It’s unfortunate I never managed to hold Jerome accountable for his actions. However, it was wrong-headed of me to assume responsibility.”

“Oswald, don’t cast aspersions,” Edward said mildly. “You know they weren’t an item.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nygma,” Bruce said, nodding to Olga as she filled his teacup. “My past interactions with Jerome have no bearing on my present relationship with Jeremiah.”

“Are you sure about that?” Zsasz asked, slurping what was already in his cup. “Jerome practically set you two up before he kicked it.”

Jeremiah was staring at the empty plate in front of him, probably resisting the urge to knock Zsasz’s coffee down his front. He didn’t acknowledge Olga as she poured his tea.

“Actually, Jerome’s intention was to antagonize me and drive Jeremiah mad,” Bruce said calmly.

“I assume you know he’s back from the dead again, like the bad penny he is?” Oswald ventured.

“If I may,” Jeremiah said, “I’m sure Jerome’s not pleased Bruce returned my affections. I doubt he appreciates the level of sanity I’ve retained.”

“Sanity’s overrated,” Edward said, dropping one too many sugar cubes in his tea. “I learned the hard way, believe me,” he mock-whispered.

“Something tells me I shouldn’t take advice from someone who dated a co-worker, his former boss, and yet another co-worker,” Jeremiah said coolly, “in that order, no less. Oh, and then circled _back_ to the aforementioned former boss. Have I missed anyone?”

Bruce couldn’t even begin to determine how to prevent all hell from breaking loose, not when Edward’s expression was more spooked than offended. He stared at Jeremiah. Oswald was trying to catch Bruce’s attention, but Bruce decided to pretend he didn’t notice.

“You know what’s uncanny?” asked Edward, with sly calculation that never boded well. “Your brother said something almost exactly like that to Lee while we were stuck in Arkham, after Strange used Ivy’s blood to revive us. I bet you didn’t know that’s why Jerome came back, did you?” He glanced at Bruce. “It’s how he met your lab rat of a half-sibling. I’d say I remember the time fondly, but I barely slept thanks to all the _banging_ —”

“Oh, huh,” Zsasz cut in, crunching into the toast Olga had just set in front of him. “I wondered.”

“Would you please focus?” Oswald snarled, slapping the table. “Mr. Wayne, I’d like to remind you that my crew intercepted you and Mr. Valeska as you fled from Celestial Garden security. Why were you in the Narrows? Why are you in this godforsaken wasteland _at all_? You’re awfully lively, considering you were supposed to be dead, too.”

“We faked our deaths to escape,” Bruce admitted. “Jim told Alfred, via radio transmission, that Jerome and Five had been sighted around the city. When Alfred told us, we felt like we owed—

“Jim?” Oswald said, sounding disappointed. “What did that self-righteous fool ever do for you?”

“No, we felt like we owed _Gotham_ ,” Jeremiah said reproachfully. “We helped Ra’s al Ghul cut the city off, and then we ran. Nobody else had the same opportunity, and then we found out we’d trapped them here with a pair of psychopaths even worse than me.”

“You’re not a psychopath,” Bruce insisted. “You were poisoned by Jerome, and then you made some terrible decisions out of paranoia and—”

“See, this is _good_ ,” Edward said to Oswald, taking Oswald’s hand against the tablecloth. “Kind of makes me feel better about our life choices.”

“And what?” Jeremiah demanded, ignoring the couple at the end of the table. “Lovesickness?”

“Out of care for me,” Bruce insisted. “Jeremiah, we’ve been over this. You can’t blame—”

“No, I can’t blame myself,” Jeremiah agreed sarcastically, “but everyone else in the city can!”

Throughout all of this, Olga had continued to serve toast and scrambled eggs without comment.

Zsasz used his fork to gesture between all of them. “This is _so_ not what I was expecting.”

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Bruce said to Jeremiah, and then shifted his focus to Oswald. “Let’s back up the discussion. Jim said he’d exonerate us if we brought in Jerome and Five, dead or alive. _That’s_ why we were in the Narrows last night. One of Jim’s patrols radioed in a report that they’d been spotted entering the Sirens. We went to intercept them, but they fled the premises. We pursued them as far as Celestial Garden, which led to us being chased by Jeri’s security. It’s why we ended up on your turf.” He paused for breath, relieved to see Jeremiah rise from his seat and start to make his way around to Bruce’s side of the table. “In Jim’s regard, we’re still outlaws. Who’s to say we aren’t safer here?”

Jeremiah set his hands protectively on Bruce’s shoulders. “Questions? Comments? Concerns?”

“Lots,” Edward said, raising his hand. “Jerome and his princess are annoying, but I don’t think you should kill them. They keep each other occupied. If you botch the job and kill only one of them, the other will go on a rampage.”

“Princess?” Jeremiah echoed, sliding into the seat beside Bruce. “Where’s that coming from?”

“You didn’t have the pleasure of hearing?” Edward asked. “That’s what Jerome calls Five.”

“From what you saw while Strange had you trapped,” Bruce said cautiously, “would you say…”

Oswald, who had been beaming and glowering by turns, gave Edward an encouraging nod.

“Yes,” Edward said, cattiness vanishing from his demeanor. “Bare minimum, they’re infatuated. Worst-case scenario, they’re head over heels.”

Jeremiah was so stunned by what he’d just heard that he didn’t even attempt to dispute it.

“You think this means we shouldn’t kill them?” Bruce asked. “What about turning them in?”

“I don’t care if you turn them in or not,” Edward said, shrugging, “but you heard me correctly.”

“I’m with Ed,” Zsasz admitted to Oswald. “If you wanted ’em dead, boss, we’d be at odds.”

“Why, Victor?” Oswald sneered. “Because the clone endeared himself to you at the Foxglove?”

“Yeah, partly,” Zsasz said, his manner unapologetic. “There’s also the fact Ed’s talking sense.”

“Be that as it may,” Oswald said to Bruce and Jeremiah, “I can’t let you get on with your manhunt. You’re worth a great deal to me, at least until such time as Jim can negotiate reunification with the mainland.”

“What makes you think we’re worth anything to Gordon, except as a means to an end?” Jeremiah asked, finally recovered enough to speak.

“Whether you catch Jerome and his paramour or not,” Oswald replied smugly, “you’re still something Jim can toss to his bloodthirsty ranks as a scapegoat. Whether they get to lock up one set of you or the other, end result’s the same. So, come reunification, I’ll hand you over on the condition that Jim doesn’t try to send us—” he indicated himself and Edward “—to Arkham, or Blackgate, or _anywhere_.”

“Sorry to derail the conversation, but…” Bruce tried to organize his thoughts. “If Strange took over Arkham after the city got cut off, and those of you he captured for the sake of experimentation escaped, where is he now? Still there?”

Zsasz whistled. “Still there all right, rotting in C-block. Your monsters-in-law caught and killed him, just like boss asked. Nasty end, too. Several gunshot wounds to the chest, head bashed in with a fireplace poker.”

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes at Oswald. “You had the chance to contain them, but you sent them on an _errand_ instead?” He glared at Edward. “You didn’t escape. You were rescued.”

“I never claimed we escaped,” Edward said. “You drew that erroneous conclusion yourselves.”

Losing his patience, Bruce stacked Edward’s untouched pieces of toast on top of his own, placed those on his larger plate with the eggs Olga had dished out, and got to his feet. He nudged Jeremiah’s shoulder until he grabbed some silverware and followed suit.

“You’ve given us a lot to consider,” Bruce said coldly. “In the meantime, since we’re stuck here, I hope nobody minds if we head back upstairs.” He waylaid Olga as they made their exit. “Thank you for serving us. Would it be too much trouble if…”

Olga patted Bruce’s shoulder, and then Jeremiah’s. “Is no trouble. I deliver from now on.”

Jeremiah didn’t say a word until they’d reached their room. He took the plate away from Bruce, set it on the nightstand, and kissed him.

“Every time I’m convinced I’ve finally seen some kind of drawback to loving you, I’m wrong.”

Bruce kissed him back, realizing he wasn’t hungry enough to pass up some more time in bed.

No sooner had they gone another round, finished eating, and slept a while longer, than someone else knocked. Bruce left Jeremiah huddled under the covers, hastily putting on a bare minimum of clothing before he stepped close to the door.

“Ms. Agapova?” he asked. “Please, just give me a second. I’ll hand the plate out to you.”

“Yikes, Bruce,” said Ivy. “Orderin’ Pengy’s help around like she’s Alfred? Stay classy.”

“Hey, have you got J in there?” said Ecco’s voice, but in a cadence Bruce didn’t recognize.

Jeremiah sat up, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “I doubt you’d appreciate the state we’re in.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Ivy said cheerfully. “Damn, it’s great to hear ya! On the rocks with Jim?”

Recalling last night’s chain of events, Bruce went back to the bed and flopped beside Jeremiah.

“Why did you warn Jerome and Five we were there?” he asked. “They’re not anyone’s friends.”

“I beg to differ,” Ecco said with brazen sarcasm. “We were stuck together in Arkham, long story. That place is even more of a hellhole than—”

Jeremiah stopped stroking Bruce’s hair. “Strange captured you along with Edward and the rest?”

“Turns out bein’ his former student was no guarantee of favoritism,” Ecco drawled. “Jackass.”

Bruce wondered why she sounded different, but felt like it was rude to ask. “Are you all right?”

“Hell yeah!” Ivy called back. “I can communicate with plants now. Also, Harley’s my girl.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes again, resuming the attention he’d been lavishing on Bruce. “Really?”

“Hey, you’ve got no room to judge me for goin’ by my actual name _or_ for hookin’ up!”

“Why’s Ecco talking like that?” Bruce whispered. “I never knew her full legal name, but—”

“Harley Quinn Eccles, but that’s Harley Quinn to you,” Ivy cut in. “She stole what was left of your boyfriend’s army. Founded a new religion, even.”

“They weren’t really mine,” Jeremiah muttered. “They were Jerome’s least and dullest.” He lay back down next to Bruce, running his fingertips over Bruce’s cheek. “She’s always spoken like that. It’s just that she’s no longer bothering with propriety around people who aren’t me.”

Suddenly, Bruce wondered how extensive Ivy’s and Harley’s interactions had been with Strange’s other captives in Arkham. Edward had obviously been imprisoned near enough to hear Jerome and Five through the wall, and it begged the question of who’d been kept with whom.

“I can’t make you answer this, but I’d really appreciate it,” Bruce said. “Were you kept more than one to a cell? Are Jerome and Five…involved?”

“Involved?” Ivy echoed incredulously. “That’s kinda insulting. They’re a lot more than that.”

“How would you describe their relationship?” Bruce asked, exchanging uneasy glances with Jeremiah. “Did it seem…never mind. Just the facts.”

“It didn’t _seem_ anything,” Harley replied. “They fell hard and fast, just like you guys. Hey, story time! We each had a cell to our lonesome. There was a vent between mine and Ivy’s, though, just like there was one between Jerome’s and Five’s. They succeeded in knockin’ out the grates because Five has that freak strength. They shacked up after, like, a week of chatterin’ to each other. Kinda funny, actually—Five bided his time until he was sure Jerome felt the same. You shoulda heard Jerome’s reaction when Five opened that shit an’ asked him to come over. Real sweet, actually. Betcha never knew your brother was a gentleman, huh, J?”

“I don’t doubt he could be, if he deemed someone worthy of his affections,” Jeremiah said quietly, startling Bruce with his earnest admission.

“Thank you,” Bruce said, putting his arm around Jeremiah when he rested his head against Bruce’s shoulder in exhaustion. “Both of you.”

“Good talk!” Harley said brightly. “Maybe come see us when you’re decent. C’mon, Ives.”

“Sure, it’d be fun to hang out. ’Later!” Ivy added, dashing after her. “Where’s the damn dog? We were supposed to be keeping an eye on it!”

As silence settled, Bruce pulled the covers over both of them. He lay awake for a long time.


	3. The Rock

Five was grateful to Jeri for not invading his and Jerome’s privacy over the next several days. She only knocked on their door to say she would leave some food on the table, or to ask if they were feeling up to another appearance downstairs at the club—no pressure.

Much like the first time they’d stayed, they spent those few days taking the food back to their sanctuary. Jerome had somehow been run the most ragged, so Five made the trip downstairs on their third evening there to fetch glass-bottled Cokes from the bar.

Avi, glad to chat for a few minutes, had winked and put a whole four-back in a shopping bag.

The patron who accosted Five on his way back upstairs never knew what hit them, Five’s knife-strike leaving their throat a bloody, gaping maw. Some blood had hit Five’s cheek. He retrieved the bag from where he’d dropped it and took the steps two at a time.

Jerome answered Five’s frantic banging on the apartment door, let him inside, and re-locked it.

“Hey, what’s the…” He stared at the splash on Five’s face, pulling him close. “Oh, princess.”

“Sorry I couldn’t let you in on it,” Five panted, drunk on Jerome’s kisses. “Happened too fast.”

“Jeri’s gonna hate the mess,” Jerome cackled, drawing him back to the bedroom, “but so what.”

“She would’ve killed them anyway for trying,” Five said, pushing Jerome down on the bed.

Sterilizing the blade by candle-flame felt ridiculous given that they might’ve ingested a trace of the stranger’s blood, but Five felt better about using it on Jerome that way. He sliced a swirling, ornate _5_ on Jerome’s abdomen, and then sucked him off nice and slow.

Once he was coherent, Jerome hesitated over Five’s request until Five kissed him and guided his hand to make the first cut. Converting the faded parallel scars on Five’s abdomen into a _JV_ took team effort, as Jerome’s stiff wrists weren’t quite up to precision work.

They drank all of the Cokes afterward and did their best to keep too much blood from getting on Jeri’s sheets. They talked half the night thanks to the sugar rush, and Five fell asleep after Jerome bandaged their wounds and gave him a lazy, perfect hand job.

Five woke up late, feeling disoriented until he realized Jerome was right beside him, watchful.

“Heya, precious,” Jerome said, tucking Five’s hair behind his ear. “Jeri’s makin’ breakfast.”

“I guess we should go be social,” Five sighed groggily. “Especially after what I did last night.”

“If anything, you improved the ambiance,” Jerome said, fetching their borrowed robes. “Here.”

The cramped kitchen table was set with pitchers of orange juice and milk, which Five remembered from last time as having been frozen and powdered to start out. Fresh fruit was nearly impossible to find by now, although Jeri had cornered the market on hoarding frozen stuff. There scrambled egg-whites and crispy bacon this time in addition to the Cheerios.

“Nice to see you guys once in a while,” Jeri said, carrying over a plate of bagel-halves she’d just pulled from the toaster. “Butter’s on the table. I hope you like blueberry bagels, because that’s all I’ve got.”

“I don’t like any kind,” Five said, helping himself to the bacon and Cheerios. “I scavenged too many stale ones when I was living on the streets.”

“Bagel’s a bagel,” Jerome said indifferently, plucking two halves onto his plate. “Yowch. Hot.”

“I don’t mean to be a total drag, but listen up,” Jeri said, taking her spot at the head of the table. “I can’t have you stabbin’ folks in the club. That’s an OSHA violation. If somebody fucks with you, make a shit-ton of noise so security can handle it, okay?”

“What are your chances of being heard over the music?” Five asked, disgruntled. “What if they have a weapon?”

“We screen for blades and guns,” Jeri said, pouring herself some coffee. “Otherwise, fists and mace are fair game.”

“You didn’t screen us either time,” Jerome pointed out, taking a noisy bite of his bagel. “We definitely had knives.”

“I made exceptions for you two,” Jeri admitted, grabbing a bagel-half. “You kinda live here.”

“If I use my fists, or…or my hands, period,” Five said, “I’m just as likely to kill an attacker.”

“Yeah, but you’re less likely to get blood all over the place,” Jeri countered. “Easier cleanup.”

“So, I’ve got a question,” Jerome ventured, “but it’s got nothin’ to do with the current subject.”

“Knock yourself out,” Jeri said, scraping eggs onto her plate. “I’m sick of discussin’ this anyway.”

“Any chance your crew has a set of wheels?” Jerome asked. “We need an escort to Midtown.”

Five was grateful to Jerome for raising the issue, because the possessions they’d left at Jeri’s were limited at best. They could only recycle their formalwear so many days in a row, especially without access to dry cleaning. 

“Why do you need to go to Midtown?” Jeri asked, perplexed. “The shops are all picked over.”

“Gotta grab clothes and stuff from the penthouse,” Jerome replied. “It’s swanky, don’t get me wrong, but it’s sterile. Not a long-term solution.”

“We left our car in the garage,” Five added, almost knocking over the orange juice. “I want it.”

“You two have a car?” Jeri snorted, shoveling more eggs in her mouth. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Black 2018 Mustang with a bunch of mods I’ve never seen before,” Jerome said. “Custom.”

“Ah, gotcha,” Jeri said, jabbing her fork at them. “You stole Bruce’s car like you stole his pad.”

“ _One_ of his cars,” Five corrected, claiming the last of the eggs. “ _One_ of his…wait, what?”

“Slang, sweet pea,” Jerome said, pouring Five some more juice. “Place to live. Don’t sweat it.”

“We’re going to need a gas can,” Five said, picking up where he left off. “The tank got low.”

“Hate to break it to ya, kiddos, but the kinda fuel that thing takes is probably non-existent now.”

“Tricked out as that thing is,” Jerome said thoughtfully, “I bet it can run on anything. Versatile.”

“Sounds like you didn’t get to take her for too many spins,” Jeri replied. “Okay, suppose I give you the manpower to get to Midtown. You better _promise_ it’s an in-and-out job. No goofin’ off. I don’t care how cool your car is. I’ll send along some gas so you can fill her up and drive her back. You’ve gotta follow my guys, take exactly the route they take. Clear?”

“Yes,” Five said, shaking her hand. “Got it. Do you want us to get you anything— _oh_. Right.”

“If we happen to see anything lyin’ around,” Jerome improvised. “Not, like, go out of our way.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ regret this,” Jeri sighed, wiping her mouth on one of the Hanukkah napkins they’d been using. “Jeez, there’s still blood on your face. Go wash up. Get dressed. I’m not gonna let you go out like that.”

They got ready just in time for Jeri to announce that she’d lined up two of her guys and an SUV.

Five didn’t like the fact that he and Jerome were stuck in the back seat, but it meant he could take in how much bleaker the streets had gotten. He would’ve preferred to go on foot, armed to the teeth, but both of them were playing it as safe as they knew how.

“Hey,” Jerome said, as they were getting close to their destination, “should we tell her?”

“Tell Jeri?” Five asked, waiting until Jerome nodded in confirmation. “Tell her what?”

“The happy news,” Jerome said, fixing a few strands of Five’s hair that had fallen loose.

“Oh,” Five said, staring out the window as they coasted into the parking garage. “I guess.”

“She’ll do it up proper, with decorations and everything,” Jerome said. “Sky’s the limit.”

“I’d be fine if she conducted the ceremony, with just a few witnesses,” Five admitted.

Unexpectedly, Jerome looked crestfallen at that. “Whatever you want, precious.”

Five turned to face him, unbuckling his seatbelt so he could slide into Jerome’s lap.

“You want a big wedding,” he said, touching Jerome’s face. “That’s really sweet.”

Jerome didn’t smile, but he did look less put-out. “Guys aren’t supposed to want—”

“That’s bullshit,” Five said, kissing him as the SUV came to a stop. “Let’s have one.”

“We’re here, Mr. Valeska,” said the driver, some hulk named Greg. “We’ll guard the elevator while you and—while you two get what you need.”

Five rolled his eyes as he pushed the door open, hopping down so he could help Jerome. The stiffness in Jerome’s limbs wasn’t abating quickly.

“I don’t like that guy,” Jerome said once they’d used Bruce’s security badge to access the elevator. “He disrespected you back there.”

“Let it go,” Five said, tapping the badge to the keypad, whisking them upward. “It’s not like he knows my honorifics. I don’t even know.”

“Avi calls you Miss Five,” Jerome said. “Seemed like they’ve been doin’ that a long time. Jeri didn’t catch flak for callin’ you Miss Thing, either.”

“Jeri was following Avi’s lead,” Five said, taking Jerome’s hand as the elevator glided to a halt. “That’s also common in the gay community, or at least used to be for her generation.”

“You never minded me callin’ you my princess,” Jerome said. “At least I hope you don’t.”

“Of course I don’t,” Five reassured, leading him swiftly down the hall. “That’s what I am.”

Jerome was quiet until well after they’d entered the penthouse and started packing their favorite clothes and objects. He stuck a bunch of Five’s hangers in a shopping bag now that the clothes themselves were in a suitcase, suddenly thoughtful.

“I know you don’t consider yourself a Wayne,” Jerome said. “Can’t blame you.” He took the shopping bag out to the living room and then came back. “What about your…well, not your mom, but the lady who carried you? That whole two-ggs-that-fused deal—one from her, one from Bruce’s mom, both fertilized with stuff from Bruce’s dad? Your XX,XY chimera thing, which is pretty cool? Anyway, I digress. Court of Owls lady.”

Five couldn’t help smiling as he pulled the last of his jeans from a drawer. He shoved them in his backpack, trying to remember how much he’d told Jerome about what he’d learned from his records the one time Peabody had left them in his room while she’d gone to get Strange.

“You’re wondering what her name was? Kathryn Monroe. They put that on the birth certificate the Strange kept in my file at Indian Hill. Given everything they did to me, you’d think they would’ve burned it. I think she got attached, but that her loyalty to the Court, whatever deal they had…it kept her from trying to keep me rather than surrender me to what was Pinewood Farms at that point in time. She was kind to me while I was living with her, training to be Bruce. She even had a doctor examine me, to see if they could save my life. I guess only Ivy could do that.”

“Your name’s Monroe, then?” asked Jerome, testing the sound. “Five Monroe’s not bad.”

“When we get married, I was thinking I’d take yours,” Five admitted, his back still turned.

Jerome slid his arms around Five, rocking him where he stood. “You’re too good for that.”

“You told me Valeska was your maternal grandmother’s name. Your mom changed her name to that because Trumble was boring?” Five dropped his backpack and turned. “What was she like?”

“I assume you mean my grandma, because you know all about Mom,” Jerome said darkly.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Five replied, hugging him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Nana, though? Kindest person I ever met aside from you and Jeri,” Jerome said. “Otherwise, I would’ve ditched Valeska ages ago. Rumor has it she offed Grandpa Trumble, the abusive ex-husband, and reverted back to her maiden name. See? Murder runs in the family.”

“I love hearing your stories,” said Five, “but we need to get out of here. Tell the rest later?”

“Yours put mine to shame,” Jerome replied, retrieving the backpack. “C’mon, sweet pea.”

“What about the radio?” Five asked, pointing to the apparatus Jeremiah had left behind.

“Hadn’t thought about that,” Jerome said. “We could wheel the cart into the elevator, see if there’s room for everything when we get down there.”

Greg was efficient, at least, because the Mustang was fueled and ready to go when they reached the parking garage with their various bags. They loaded the Mustang’s trunk with luggage, and then put the radio in the back seat. The cart didn’t fit, so they shoved it in the SUV.

They’d scarcely followed Greg a few blocks out of the parking garage when the radio’s low, constant static crackled. _You said you’d retrieve this dumb thing. I keep hoping you might be somewhere nearby. If you’re dead, I’m going to kick your asses._

Jerome almost swerved off the road when he glanced over his shoulder in surprise. “Is that—”

“Selina, yeah,” Five said cautiously. “She can’t hear us. It isn’t for two-way. Just interception.”

_Jim says you never came back from your errand. I told you not to go after those nut jobs._

“That’s a step up from when she called me a cheap, knock-off Bruce,” Five said, folding his arms.

“Nut job’s a step up from freak,” Jerome added, taking the next turn too sharp. “That’s what she called me the last time I saw her. Uncle Zach’s diner, not too long before I killed him.”

_You never listen, do ya, Bruce? Looks like you don’t, either, freak. Made for each other._

“Wow,” Five said, patting Jerome’s knee. “Looks like Jeremiah even stole your nickname.”

“She could call them,” Jerome said, unimpressed. “Unless Mr. Oswald took their phones.”

“I hope they’re bored to tears,” Five said vindictively. “Stuck in a cell just like we were.”

“Separate cells, even. See how they like not bein’ able to…whoa, nope, bad mental image.”

_Even if you can hear me, I know you can’t respond. You idiots just…stay safe, okay?_

Five glanced at Jerome, whose eyes were fixed on the road. He wasn’t grinning anymore.

“We can smash it when we get back. It’s not really any use, is it, aside from eavesdropping?”

Before Jerome could respond, gunfire ricocheted off the windshield. Jerome swerved, in complete control this time, cutting down a side street. 

Five twisted around in his seat, just in time to see a ragtag army pursue the SUV on foot. Jerome was driving too fast for them to remain a target.

“Is the SUV bulletproof?” Five asked. “Straight through the next intersection, then turn right!”

“You know this part of town better than I do, babe,” Jerome said. “As for the SUV, I dunno.”

“We might want to take the freeway,” Five suggested. “Steer clear while those raiders do…whatever they’re gonna do to Greg and the other guy.”

Jerome nodded. “It’s the exit off Welling Avenue, right? Past all those derelict warehouses?”

“Yeah,” Five said, rifling through the glove compartment for the CD case he thought he’d seen back when they first found the vehicle. “Music?”

“Nah,” Jerome said distractedly, patting Five’s arm. “Can’t concentrate as it is. Rain check.”

Five navigated them in circles for nearly an hour. When Jeri sent a text to the burner phone she’d given them, asking where the hell they were, he told Jerome they were going back.

Jeri was waiting in the alley behind the club with a ton of her security detail when they arrived.

Five got out of the car as fast as he could, panting as he raced to Jeri. “Both vehicles were attacked,” he sobbed, not sure when he’d started to cry. “We got separated! We couldn’t—”

Jeri caught Five and held him before he understood what was even happening. She shushed him, not seeming to care that he was getting snot all over her shoulder. He’d never thought about the fact she was just about his height, and a lot stronger than she looked.

“Is that what happened, J? I’m lookin’ for order of events,” Jeri said, her voice raw. “Greg had me on speaker. Gunshots were the last thing I heard.”

Five hyperventilated while Jerome filled Jeri in. When they were finished, Jeri handed Five off to Jerome and said her guys would unload everything.

“Hey, princess,” Jerome murmured. “We lost two flunkies, an SUV, and a cart. That’s it.”

“Kiddo, you’ve gotta breathe,” Jeri said gently. “None of this shit’s your fault. Talk to me.”

“We’re engaged,” Five blurted, the stress of it all reducing his awareness to that simple fact.

“Uh,” Jeri said after a few uncomfortably astonished seconds of silence, “you’re what now?”

“About that, heh, yeah! Talk later?” Jerome babbled, ushering Five inside the club’s darkened interior. He navigated them to the back, making sure Five didn’t trip or bump into anything. “Looks like you’re breathin’ again. What can we get you before headin’ upstairs?”

“I don’t know,” Five said, bringing them to a standstill so he could cling to Jerome some more.

Jerome pressed his mouth against Five’s ear, his quickening breath betraying his own panic.

“Even if we’d bit the dust back there,” he said in a low voice, “remember what we promised?”

Five nodded with conviction, focusing on the vows they’d traded while they were trapped in Arkham. The memory was grounding.

“We were together,” Jerome said quietly, “so everything woulda been fine. Still cool with you?”

“Yes,” Five said, letting Jerome disentangle them enough to get on with climbing the staircase. 

“I can think of worse ways to go, precious,” Jerome went on soothingly. “That hasn’t changed.”

Five let Jerome untie his Docs and pull them off his feet as soon as they were inside Jeri’s apartment. “I can think of worse ways, too.”

Jerome propped Five against the wall while he took care of his own boots. “Not today, though.”

Five followed Jerome back to their room. Jerome lay down on the bed, tugging Five after him.

“I hate seein’ you like this, sweet pea,” Jerome murmured, fretfully playing with Five’s hair.

Closing his eyes, Five concentrated on Jerome’s callused fingertips against his temple. “You…”

“I’m gonna be fine,” Jerome replied, although he sounded exhausted, “as long as you’re fine.”

“Not that simple,” Five insisted, kissing Jerome softly on the mouth. “What do _you_ need?”

Jerome gave the question serious consideration. “It’s always too late for that to be relevant.”

“Just because you tell yourself you’re okay doesn’t mean you are,” Five said. “For how long…”

“Always, princess,” Jerome said, nuzzling Five’s cheek. “That’s how it’s always had to be.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Five replied. “You don’t have to pretend you are just because I _can’t_.”

Jerome laughed, the indulgent cackle rumbling between their chests. “Misery loves company.”

“I don’t love you _only_ because it’s easier to be miserable together,” said Five, indignantly.

“I’m not the best at feelings,” Jerome said. “With me, you’re gonna get everything at once.”

“Isn’t that exactly what feelings are?” Five asked, feeling Jerome’s heartbeat begin to slow.

“Did you start with nothing?” Jerome asked unexpectedly. “Because you can’t feel physical pain, did you have to…dunno, figure out emotional pain from a different reference point?”

Five wasn’t sure what Jerome meant, let alone how to answer the question. “Can you clarify?”

“I knew emotions hurt because they usually had to do with something _literally_ hurting.”

“I wish that made sense,” Five murmured, frustrated. “Maybe…emotional pain’s that much worse for me because it’s _the only_ pain. There’s nothing else that comes close.”

Chewing his lip, Jerome nodded slowly. “What about things like…heat, cold, pressure…?”

Five made the connection instantly. “ _Oh_. I know pleasure’s pleasure because of…what you were saying about how you knew emotions hurt, only…in reverse. Like that?”

Jerome hadn’t blinked for a few seconds. He seemed to be processing their strange inversion.

“I wish death could have taken that from you,” Five admitted. “Wish you didn’t have to hurt.”

“Couldn’t wish that even if I tried,” Jerome said. “I wouldn’t have this. Wouldn’t have _you_.”

Sleepily, Five grinned at him. “Your case for us getting married is even better than mine.”


	4. The Watcher

Jeremiah wondered if Oswald understood that being his prisoner was more like being a house guest that most others didn’t actually mind having around. He floated this musing to Bruce once they’d been there for about a week, and it made him laugh.

Just as life was settling into a routine, they were awakened midway through their second week by a commotion down in the atrium. Earlier, there had been gunfire nearby—but Jeremiah had gone back to sleep, and Bruce had slept right through it.

“I heard shooting earlier,” Jeremiah whispered to a groggy Bruce. “It sounds like Penguin might have suffered some losses. We should listen in.”

Bruce was out of bed before Jeremiah could suggest they dress and head downstairs. “I agree.”

“Scratch that,” Jeremiah said, dressing more quickly than Bruce. “We should participate.”

“Somehow I don’t think Oswald will appreciate our input,” Bruce said. “We’ve made a lot of progress as far as being allowed to wander around without coming under suspicion. We need to continue to gain his trust.”

“I’m not proposing that we _say_ anything,” Jeremiah replied, holding the door open for Bruce. “However, I do think we should wander down the stairs in plain sight. It would be a strategic show of confident indifference.”

Bruce shrugged, following him into the hall. “You have a point. Our situation can’t get worse.”

Jeremiah felt the need to shield Bruce this time as they descended the spiral staircase. The scene in progress was escalating, which meant that Oswald was dangerously close to shouting at the footsoldiers who were making their report, and Edward was doing his best to placate him.

“What do you mean they didn’t succeed? I pay them in bullets and manpower to carry out _one_ routine supply raid, and they botch the job?” Oswald spat. “That is _not_ an acceptable loss! We needed those resources!”

“Neither are the eleven casualties while they were at it, Oswald,” Edward said, low and scathing.

Oswald blanched, but continued. “I need to speak to those—those two incompetent, bumbling—”

“No can do, boss,” Zsasz said, withdrawing something from behind his back. “The mission leaders, your _allies_ , are among the dead.”

Jeremiah had never met the parties in question, but he wasn’t ignorant of the significance when Zsasz handed Oswald two items: a bloodstained piece of burlap, followed by a pocket watch dangling from a chain. Behind him, Bruce didn’t succeed at stifling his gasp.

Oswald stared at the artifacts in his hand, wide-eyed, before shakily handing them back to Zsasz.

“Dispose of the bodies,” he said, turning to go. “If any of them had loved ones, let them know.”

Jeremiah watched Edward step forward and lean close to Zsasz so Oswald wouldn’t overhear.

“If any of them demand restitution, bring the requests to me. I’ll do whatever I can to assist.”

It was then that Zsasz seemed to notice Jeremiah and Bruce for the first time. “Company, boss.”

Edward turned to face them as Zsasz led the other footsoldiers away to carry out their orders.

“When Oswald brought me here, fresh from Strange’s clutches in Arkham,” he said, beckoning Jeremiah and Bruce off the staircase, “I thought it’d be some kind of paradise. Shows you just how wrong things have gone. This situation makes status quo Gotham chaos look cheerful.”

Jeremiah felt his guilt stir, but Bruce intervened before he was at risk of rising to the insult.

“Ra’s was a clever manipulator,” Bruce said gravely. “We would have prevented his men from fetching the bombs if we’d had the time. Destroying him had to take precedence. We did the best we could with limited opportunity.”

“As somebody who wasn’t in control of half his actions for, uh, _way_ too long,” Edward said regretfully, “I’m not inclined to be as hard on either of you as Oswald. Or as hard as you are on yourselves, for that matter.”

Jeremiah stared at the mud and blood Zsasz and his team had tracked onto the marble floor.

“I should be more horrified than I am, _but_ …even before my transformation, I wouldn’t have been. Guilt is the best I can manage. I feel guilt because I let Ra’s make me complicit. I feel guilt because I made Bruce complicit. And I even…feel guilt because Jerome…”

“You might’ve started that fire, but you didn’t feed it,” Edward said. “Jerome has agency.”

“I wanted to ask you about what you were saying at breakfast, when we first got here,” Bruce ventured. “You don’t think we should kill them?”

Edward smirked at him. “Do _you_ think you should kill them, given half a chance? Your answer ought to be worth its weight in diversion.”

Jeremiah was keenly aware that Bruce had told him, while they were stranded at Wayne Manor, that he should’ve killed Jerome when he had the chance. That he _would_ still do so if Jeremiah wished it.

“I don’t know what I think,” Bruce admitted. “Not anymore. I don’t…know what I believe.”

“You believe we’re making the best of bad circumstances,” Jeremiah reminded him. “So do I.”

“I’d help you with your joint morality crisis, but I’m about to be _very_ busy helping Oswald with ours,” Edward said, and crossed the atrium to belatedly follow. “Think about your answer, okay? Talk later!”

For the next several days, Oswald and Edward were scarce. Jeremiah hadn’t managed to pin down Harley and Ivy in any of the little time he’d spent apart from Bruce. Similarly, Bruce hadn’t managed to catch them, either, although their luck on that front changed when they were in the midst of eating one of their two rationed daily meals in the otherwise empty dining room.

“Hey, Olga!” Ivy shouted, striding in with Harley not far behind, “bring ours in here? Thanks!”

“Maybe if you promise to find dog,” Olga said thinly, but turned and went into the kitchen.

Harley glanced uncomfortably at Ivy. “I’m startin’ to think she really doesn’t like us.”

“Olga or Winnie?” Ivy asked. “Olga doesn’t like anyone. Winnie? Who knows. She’s only run off to find Zsasz every time we’re meant to be watching her, so I give up. She can be his problem if he’s that keen. It’s Oswald’s fault the stray he took in doesn’t wanna be anywhere near him.”

“I hear what you say!” Olga shouted from the kitchen, clattering around. “Is trying patience!”

“What were you saying about the way I treat Olga, last time we spoke?” Bruce challenged Ivy.

“I wouldn’t expect her to remember if I were you,” Harley whispered, taking a seat beside Bruce, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Most of the smack she talks is…well, smack.”

“This side of the table’s redheads only!” Ivy announced, pulling out a chair beside Jeremiah. “Hi.”

Harley grabbed Bruce’s butter knife. “Ask me if I have a type, and I’ll put this through your eye.”

“Put it down,” Jeremiah said, with long-suffering sarcasm. “Everybody in Gotham knows I’m not your type, including that it has nothing to do with hair color and _everything_ to do with gender.”

“Yeah, lucky for me,” Ivy said, elbowing Jeremiah in the ribs. “Good thing your shit got derailed before you had the chance to dye yours. Harley was tellin’ me all about your plans, doin’ it for the aesthetic or whatever? I could be wrong. Maybe green woulda suited you.”

Jeremiah pressed his fingertips to his temples and stared down at his half-cleared plate. “Sure.”

“Sure, you dodged a bullet, or sure, it would’ve suited you?” Harley snickered, and then patted Bruce’s shoulder. “I’d pay good, stolen money to hear your take. Emphasis on the stolen part.”

Bruce looked sorry he was sitting across the table. “You were going to dye your hair?”

Jeremiah couldn’t help but think Harley was lucky _she_ was sitting across the table.

“Lots hinged on the down-time between the bell tower and—look, it never came to that.”

“Sure looks like it came to somethin’ else instead,” said Ivy, with an exaggerated wink.

Somewhere between one of the girls’ taunts and the next, Bruce had zoned out a bit.

“I don’t know,” he said, pretending he’d been paying attention. “Maybe it would’ve…”

“Hoo _yeah_!” Harley crowed, punching the air. “Pay up, baby! He’d be into it!”

Ivy averted her eyes as Olga brought out their plates. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“How much was the wager,” sighed Jeremiah, disaffected, beyond caring about the mockery.

“Like a whole case of Pop-Tarts, which I don’t have,” Ivy said dejectedly. “Pay up, Bruce.”

“What’s the price on that in these conditions?” asked Bruce, with an impressive poker-face.

“Oh, fuck you,” Ivy said, but she was grinning in delight. “It’s so great you guys are here.”

“It’s hard for me to believe you’ve been bored,” Jeremiah said. “Why were you at the Sirens?”

“Fancy Dress Night once a week,” Harley replied. “Not like we go every time, but—whoa, wait. They wouldn’t have let you guys in unless one of you was femme-presenting, or had a femme-presenting person _with_ you, so…how the fuck did you get in?”

Jeremiah tapped the tabletop, meeting Bruce’s gaze. “Do you want to field this, or should I?”

“We broke in,” Bruce said. “Easy enough to melt into the crowd once we made it to the club level. Underhanded, maybe, but it means they’ll better secure the storm cellar from now on.”

“Jerome and Five were admitted even though they were wearing masks,” Jeremiah said.

Ivy shrugged. “There’s no rule against masks. The only rule is that you play by theirs.”

“Five knows this city’s club circuit well enough to’ve brought a bribe, too,” Harley added. “After you guys chased ’em out of there, we went to the bar. Babs and Tabs showed off this expensive lookin’ gold watch chain.”

Bruce looked a bit put-out to hear the news. “I should never have left that in the penthouse.”

“At least you didn’t leave the watch,” Jeremiah said, reaching across the table to pat his hand.

“You guys are cute,” Ivy teased, startlingly sincere in comparison to the rest of her ridicule.

“They were annoying as fuck during the courtship phase, lemme tell ya,” Harley muttered.

“All eight weeks,” Jeremiah retorted, “yet I never so much as glimpsed a resignation letter.”

“Sorry if I was too forward,” Bruce said to Harley, abashed. “I could’ve been more discreet.”

“Nah, you couldn’t,” Ivy said, habitually blunt. “It was mostly that she didn’t wanna risk seeing Mr. J get his heart broken or his super fun plans ruined. Now, though? She’s happy for ya.”

“Still disappointed I didn’t get to keep the church,” Harley insisted. “You owe me a case of Pop-Tarts _and_ a creepy-ass abandoned church.”

Jeremiah couldn’t help smiling at that. “Should we come into possession of either, it’s yours.”

“Either?” Harley scoffed, but she grinned. “I want both, asshole. Better get crackin’ ASAP.”

Bruce seemed to have let his mind wander again, pushing around the remainder of his food.

“You live here,” he said slowly, “but Penguin has no issue with you leaving once a week?”

“It’s ’cause we’re the best black ops he has,” Ivy said. “That job Tetch and Crane fucked up? If we’d been in charge, nobody woulda bit the big one.”

“It’s clear he deemed the job too low-stakes for your considerable talents,” Jeremiah observed.

“Welp, now he won’t be riskin’ anyone _but_ us an’ Zsasz,” said Harley, utterly pleased.

“Does Zsasz go on most raids with you, or with whomever?” Bruce pressed. “I’m fascinated by Oswald’s processes. He has the most successful model I’ve seen, maybe aside from the Sirens. Jim would like to think the GCPD is faring well, but…he shouldn’t flatter himself.”

Ivy slow-clapped. “I’ve gotta hand it to ya, Bruce. You’ve come a long way since we first met.”

Jeremiah studied Bruce’s face, unable to determine whether he took the statement as a compliment, an insult, or neither.

“I might say the same about you,” Bruce said. “You mentioned you can talk to plants now? You were always skilled with them. What changed?”

“Why are you grillin’ us all of a sudden?” Harley asked, her demeanor turning sour. “Back off.”

“It’s cool,” Ivy said dismissively. “What changed? I took a fuck-ton of weird drugs and herbs, sprouted this…cocoon thing. I started hearin’ voices that aren’t _really_ voices, not like…with language. But I can translate what they’re sayin’ into words.” She stood up, made a dash for the far side of the room, came back with one of the potted ficuses, and set it on the table. “Also, I figured out I could do _this_.”

Jeremiah didn’t even have time to evade one of the two vine-like branch extensions that shot out from either side of the tree. Bruce had anticipated what was coming, leaping out of his chair so that one vine wrapped around that instead.

Ivy hadn’t set her snares to a choke-hold, but getting caught around the neck was still unpleasant.

“Amusing,” Jeremiah managed, trying to cover how rattled he was, “and point taken. Call it off.”

Ivy got the tendrils to back down without so much as moving a muscle. “Neat trick, huh?”

“I think you mean sorcery,” Bruce said in admiration, rounding the table to Jeremiah’s side.

“Anyway, we’ve gotta eat,” Harley said, tapping Ivy’s arm. “C’mon, Red. Let the boys go.”

Jeremiah dragged Bruce out of the dining room as soon as the girls were lost in conversation. 

“Is Selina just as much fun when she gets in the mix with Ivy?” he asked peevishly. “Can’t wait.”

“I wish Jim hadn’t confiscated our phones,” Bruce said. “She’s probably worried about us.”

“Maybe Edward has a burner to spare,” Jeremiah replied. “He’s the most likely to be lenient.”

“We could ask him,” Bruce said, picking up his pace so Jeremiah wasn’t dragging him anymore. “The worst he can do is refuse.

“I’d put our chances higher with him than with Oswald,” Jeremiah insisted, slowing them as they crossed the atrium. “Upstairs?”

“The girls wanted us to leave,” said Bruce, dully. “I’m not sure where else we’d be welcome.”

Jeremiah started up the spiral staircase. Inexplicably, the door to their room stood open.

Bruce strode ahead, eager to investigate. “Jeremiah, you need to come see this. It exists.”

Jeremiah wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t an amiably panting bulldog.

“I’m not touching that,” he said, cringing when Bruce knelt and scratched it behind the ears.


	5. The Witness

Jeri had given herself over a week to cut her losses and adjust to the rate of change. Recruiting replacements for Greg and Marv was easy. Adjusting to the notion that her houseguests had decided to get hitched in the midst of a wasteland was not.

Five hadn’t shown signs of wanting to do more than sit in the bedroom and read. Jerome had explained, multiple times, that if he got in a funk like that, there wasn’t much for it. Whatever he’d been doing behind that closed door kept Five sane.

Jeri couldn’t help but notice that they’d gotten quieter about certain activities than they’d been during their first brief stay after fleeing Arkham. One, she didn’t want to hear it even though it meant their relationship was doing fine. Two, it made the bloodstains on the sheets more likely to have be something they’d enjoyed doing to each other.

However, it was a relief to see Five follow Jerome out to breakfast one morning nearly two weeks after the incident. He was wearing a shabby, but elegant black kimono with carnations, cherry blossoms, and water lilies printed all over it.

Instead of asking Jeri to cook, Jerome got them some cereal and let Five sit in his lap with a music magazine. They looked awkward, but sweet.

“Hey, listen,” Jeri said, tapping the tabletop as she took a long swallow of coffee. “We’ve gotta talk about the thing you told me. I don’t disapprove.”

Five lowered his magazine, fixing her with an unblinking stare. “Good. There’s a lot to plan.”

“There’s no way we can do anything too extravagant,” Jeri told him. “If we ain’t got it around here, chances are we can’t get it. Cool with that?”

Jerome was paying close attention, possibly chewing on the inside of his lip from the look of it.

“Yeah,” Five said, dropping his magazine on the floor. He got up, went to the counter, and got Jerome some coffee. “The only thing you don’t have is a magistrate. Someone who can make it legal. City Hall isn’t even City Hall anymore.”

“You’re forgettin’ some of us can get online,” Jeri said. “Ever hear of Universal Life Church?”

Five’s face lit up as he took the empty seat next to Jerome. “We know someone who had…”

“Not a real church, sweet pea,” Jerome told him patiently. “I doubt she got herself ordained.”

Five sighed and set his elbows on the table. “It’d be nice if she and Ivy were there, though.”

“The Narrows is secure enough for a stroll over to the Sirens,” Jerome reminded Five. “We know those two like to hang out there.”

“Can anybody do the thing online?” Five asked uncertainly. “If Harley gets ordained, you could at least be one of our witnesses?”

“More likely I’m gonna do double duty,” Jeri chuckled. “First and foremost givin’ you away.”

“ _Or_ Jerome,” Five said. “Just because I’ll be in a dress doesn’t mean I need you to—”

“We could draw straws,” interjected Jerome, apprehensively, attempting to disperse the tension.

“I want you to be happy with it, remember?” Five said insistently, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Look, don’t give me any kinda green-light until you’ve got this shit figured out,” Jeri sighed.

Five stole a sip of Jerome’s coffee, making a face into the mug. “Do you have any kind of tea?”

“Not for a while now,” Jeri sighed, taking her dishes to the sink. “You’ll wanna ask Ms. Galavan and Ms. Kean about that, too. If there’s somethin’ you want, they either have it or can get it.” She reconsidered what she just said. “As far as food and drink, anyway.”

“Secure enough for a walk over _in theory_ ,” Five said, backtracking, “but not safe for us after what happened last time we were there.”

Jeri knew better than to ask, but had the feeling she was going to be even sorrier if she didn’t.

“What did happen? I got you out of the alley, but didn’t ask how things actually went down.”

“We told you,” Jerome said, fetching Five’s magazine. “Bruce and my brother chased us out.”

Five was chewing guiltily on his thumbnail. “I knifed two bodyguards so we could get away.”

“What the fuck is it with you and sharp things? Sheesh,” Jeri sighed, drying her hands on a dish towel. “I’ve got errands today. Stay here.”

Jerome gave the magazine back to Five before pouring him some juice. “Uh, yeah. Where else?”

“The sass is real,” Five retorted, nose already buried in the pages. “You’ve got a safe house.”

Jeri got cleaned up and dressed in a hurry. On her way out, she couldn’t help but notice the kitchen was empty. She hadn’t heard anything walking past the bedroom, which meant that they’d probably gone back to sleep. The hours her guests kept were unpredictable.

The whole way to the Sirens, Jeri wondered if it had been unwise to let the boys into her life. That emotion was swiftly eclipsed by her satisfaction at Barbara and Tabitha visibly wondering if they’d made a mistake letting _her_ onto their premises.

“Such a warm welcome,” Jeri said cheerfully, accepting the shot of tequila Barbara offered.

“Don’t take it personally,” Tabitha sneered. “Making nice with you means keeping the peace.”

“Business has suffered since your pet freaks got in here,” Barbara added, raising her shot glass in a sarcastic toast. “I’m sorry Brucie and _his_ pet freak didn’t get the job done.”

“The way those two snuck in is worse than how my boys snuck in,” Jeri said, taking a gamble.

Tabitha’s expression clouded. “If you mean off-radar instead of in plain sight, that’s…fair.”

“Look, we all know why I’m here,” Jeri sighed, matching Barbara shot for shot down the lines she’d poured. “I’ve kept ’em from causin’ more of a ruckus. I don’t want trouble. I don’t think they do, either. Hell, they’ve hardly spent any time on my dance floor.”

“Jerome doesn’t want trouble?” Barbara laughed. “That’s news to me. It’s all he ever wanted.”

“You guys were in the Maniax together,” Jeri reminded her. “What happened to blood’s thicker than water? Things mighta gone better for that kid had you two shoved Theo aside.”

“My brother specialized in feeding delusions of grandeur,” Tabitha said, confiscating the empty glasses. “Mine and Barb’s included. You’re right, though. I should’ve stood up to him sooner.”

“Sooner,” Jeri mused, fixing Tabitha with a hard look, realizing she’d found her leverage. “Wanna unpack that? Here I thought Jimbo and Penguin did the dirty work for ya.”

Barbara seemed to realize what Jeri was playing at, but didn’t manage to shut Tabitha down.

“Theo manipulated our niece,” Tabitha said fiercely. “He _used_ Silver. I had to get her out of that situation alive. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Jeri said, moving in for the kill. “Maybe recognize there was another kid at risk, one you didn’t even think to help? Remind me, how did it go—Theo jammed a knife in Jerome’s neck on live TV? Led him to the slaughter by promisin’ fame?”

“Stop pretending he wasn’t a monster to begin with,” Barbara mocked. “We all were. Theo just leveraged that to his advantage, and we had _fun_.”

Tabitha side-eyed her. “Yeah, _you_ had fun. So did I, at least for a while. We should’ve killed Theo before your self-righteous ex and that smarmy little creep got the chance.”

“Smarmy little creep,” Jeri echoed. “If I ever need to insult Mr. Cobblepot, I’m gonna use that.”

“Oswald doesn’t give a shit who calls him what,” Barbara said, setting two fresh shot glasses on the bar, filling them with vodka. “That’s where he and I have a lot in common. Bitch, whore, insane…” She shrugged and drank. “My list goes on as long as his.”

Tabitha regarded Jeri with a measure of sincerity. “Why did you really bother to come here?”

“I appreciate your frankness, Ms. Galavan,” Jeri said, swilling her shot. “Coupla reasons. One, to warn you about a certain upcoming wedding. The Narrows loves a reason to get rowdy. Two, there’s no tea at my place. You’d be surprised how cranky that’s makin’ Five.”

Barbara reached under the bar, rummaged around, and then slammed a box of Twinings Earl Grey down in front of Jeri. “Here I thought you were gonna tell me it was for Jerome.”

“No, he drinks coffee,” Tabitha said. “Maybe you would’ve known that if you’d paid attention to something other than Theo’s grandstanding at all those Maniax family breakfasts.”

Jeri realized there was a wealth of information on offer now that she’d gotten through to Tabitha.

“Jerome musta been, what, nineteen at most when you and Theo busted ’em all out of Arkham?”

“Eighteen when he killed his mother and got committed, so yeah,” Tabitha agreed, taking a shot. “He’d only been in for about a year. Hadn’t killed anyone else we knew of, not even on the inside. His trade was information, the kind of alliances that could get you everything from cigarettes to telephone access.” She elbowed Barbara hard. “At least that’s what I’m told.”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “What I read as him hitting on me wasn’t really that. He wanted to impress me with what he could _get_. So sue me, I took him up on the phone-call. I made it clear I wouldn’t be paying him in anything other than mercifully sparing his scrawny ass.”

Momentarily, Jeri forgot why she even thought pressing these buttons might be useful. Learning more about the idol she’d so carelessly helped to create ended nowhere but in grief. And then she connected a set of dots that made her regret having preyed on Tabitha’s weak spot.

“Shit, you were the one who took Jerome to off his old man,” Jeri blurted. “He talked about that. Said you didn’t even get in his way when he felt the need to get that stuff off his chest.”

“There’s no closure like a knife in the eye,” Tabitha said, shrugging. “He clearly needed to let Cicero know he’d hurt him every bit as much as his mother. I wasn’t about to stop him.”

Jeri reached across the bar and offered Tabitha her hand. Tabitha shook it, although she looked perplexed as to why it was even happening.

“Anybody mind telling me what just happened?” Barbara asked glibly. “No takers? Great.”

“Anyway,” Jeri said, rattling the tea bags, “that’s a long-winded way of askin’ if those crazy kids tyin’ the knot is gonna bring ’em under fire.”

It’s not up to us,” Tabitha said. “You know you’ll have to ask the _real_ boss-bitch, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Jeri sighed, rising as she downed her shot. “On my way as we speak.”


	6. The Stranger

Lee had taken to spending an hour alone in the midst of her clinic. Usually, she’d eat if that week’s charitable giving didn’t clean out her supply. Today was one of those days on which she not only had no food, but also desperately wanted a beer.

For about the first fifteen minutes of her break, she didn’t do much more than sip Negra Modelo and stare at the bloodstains on her floor. The telltale smears spoke of how she and Edward must have been dragged when Penguin’s crew found them.

Her security measures weren’t half what they’d been when she’d killed Cherry and taken over the fight-club stronghold. Even in spite of her brief absence, rival gangs hadn’t dared move into the Narrows. Rather, the Chessmen had held Lee’s ground.

Her people had been overjoyed on her return, but their numbers had dwindled. She hoped that meant that many of them had evacuated in the hours before the bridges blew. However, there was more demand for her medical practice than before.

Lee shouldn’t have been surprised at the intrusion on her lonely drinking session. She wasn’t ignorant of what had happened at Celestial Garden. Even at the height of Lee’s power, Jeri had never come to introduce herself and pay respects.

“You might consider puttin’ a couple bruisers outside your door,” Jeri suggested, taking the seat across from Lee. “Ladies, gents—whatever kinda muscle you fancy. Security’s a gal’s best friend. Maybe I’m preachin’ to the choir. Nobody dared fuck with you when you took over.”

Lee shook her half-empty bottle at Jeri, a crude offer to share. “Yeah, there’s no need. If somebody kills me, the Narrows is shit out of luck. There’s no other doctor for miles. No _competent_ one, anyway. Jim can’t even boast that about his ragtag team of do-gooder misfits.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Jeri said, turning down the drink. “I just did some serious shots at the Sirens.”

“Day drinking, not even in your own bar,” Lee laughed. “Sad state of affairs. What happened?”

“I’m guessin’ you know all about what happened chez moi a couple weeks ago,” Jeri sighed.

Lee swigged the remainder of her beer. “What was worse—finding out Bruce and Jeremiah weren’t dead, or finding out Jerome wasn’t dead, either?”

“Found out about Jerome first,” Jeri said. “He and Five came to me for help after Penguin busted all of you out of Arkham. As for the Wayne kid and Jerome’s brother, I knew they’d turn up eventually. Chased the other two right to my door. They’ve been crashin’ in my spare room. Can’t even persuade ’em down to the bar long enough to satisfy their adoring public. Jerome’s losin’ his taste for an audience.”

“It was really something to watch,” Lee said pensively, amazed at how easy she found the admission. “Well, _hear_. I shared a wall with Jerome while we were Strange’s prisoners. He treated me like his therapist until he realized there was someone even more willing to listen.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have been afraid to come over here,” Jeri replied. “I almost forgot you knew. Seems like everyone else has the best bits and pieces of Jerome’s story. The one I ran with after the first time he died wasn’t even the part of his life he’d remember fondest.”

“You were afraid to come here?” Lee asked incredulously. “Why? What did Barbara tell you?”

“It’s what Tabitha told me that mattered,” Jeri said. “But that’s not even what had me afraid.”

Lee stared at the object Jeri clutched in her lap. The unopened box of Twinings Earl Grey made as little sense as Jeri’s presence. If she’d come from the Sirens, maybe it had been as simple as a supply run, provision of a frivolous consumable she couldn’t find elsewhere.

“You must really be jonesing,” Lee said, nodding at the tea, trying to lighten the mood. “What do you need from me that they didn’t have? Some mediocre beer? I’ve got plenty.”

Jeri burst out in the kind of laughter Lee might once have found unnerving. “Sister, I wish.”

“If you want my approval or my protection,” Lee went on, “I’m not in the business anymore.”

“Huh, the Sirens seem to think different,” Jeri said, puzzled. “They told me that if somethin’ huge is gonna happen around these parts, you need to be petitioned for zoning rights.”

“I couldn’t care less what kind of racket you open,” Lee scoffed. “You’re too smart to fuck up the Narrows for the rest of us.” She paused. “You’re also too pragmatic to stick your neck out for the sake of some tea. Is something wrong with…”

“Only thing wrong with ’em is that they’re cranky, spoiled brats,” Jeri admitted. “My fault.”

“Oh my God,” Lee said in amazement, her laughter giving Jeri’s a run for its money. “Really?”

“Are they technically adults? Sure. Are they damaged kids? _Double_ sure. They’re tired of dying, and even more tired of running. Neither one of ’em alone would’ve hesitated to march right into gunfire, but together? There’s so much they don’t wanna lose.”

“That tracks,” Lee said wearily, wondering which of the boys required such unlikely caffeine.

“I’m piecin’ together what they’ve been through,” Jeri agreed. “Jerome mostly. I think you’re the first one I’ve found who was there when they met.”

“They hit it off once Jerome stopped being a grump,” Lee said. “He wasn’t happy to wake up again, although the fact I was there both times he revived seemed to calm him.”

“Well, shit, I never deserved to be his prophet,” Jeri cackled. “It was you all along, Doc!”

“The honor’s dubious, believe me,” Lee said, contemplating more beer. “You’re welcome to it.”

“I didn’t deserve to choose him before I even knew him,” Jeri said, “and here he hightailed it out of danger with his princess in tow and chose _me_. How’s that for the childish hand of fate?”

“You’re drunk,” Lee muttered, losing her patience with the runaround. “What do you really want from me?”

“They almost got shot a week ago,” Jeri lamented. “They went back to Midtown to fetch the stuff they had stashed in the Wayne penthouse and almost didn’t make it back. That was on my watch. So, what does Five do when they make it back by the skin of their teeth? Tell me they’re fuckin’ engaged. I didn’t have the heart to refuse to host their wedding.”

Lee got up and fetched another bottle of Negra Modelo. Jeri didn’t refuse a swig when she offered it this time.

“You’re hosting the rest of their life at the moment,” Lee said. “All it does is bring down trouble on your doorstep. I can survive anything.”

“You’re not afraid of a coup?” Jeri countered. “Jerome’s following is back with a vengeance.”

“Not my circus,” Lee replied. “I’ll be here to patch the collateral damage, but that’s about it.”

“C’mon, where’s the fun in that?” Jeri goaded. “I’d bet dollars to donuts they’re gonna invite you. Those two other ladies are already on the list. When the time comes, why not RSVP?”

“You mean Harley and Ivy?” Lee sighed. “Sure. Why not. At least I’ll be on-site for triage.”

“Aw, see, they’re gonna be real happy to hear that!” Jeri said, unsteadily getting to her feet.

“I seriously hope you came with an escort,” said Lee. “Do you need me to walk you home?”

Jeri shrugged, wavering where she stood. “I have a gun. And this,” she said, rattling the tea.

“They’d never forgive me if _you_ don’t make it home in one piece,” Lee said, taking Jeri by the shoulder. “Guess my clinic’s closed.”

Emerging into the alley, they almost ran face-first into Victor Zsasz, who’d been about to knock. He had an English bulldog on a leash, which wasn’t the strangest thing Lee had ever seen Zsasz tow around. She wondered if the creature was one of Oswald’s extravagances.

“Timing,” Zsasz said, lighting up. “You’re just the one I came to see, Doc. Can I tag along?”

“Only if you don’t mind playing campus escort service,” Lee replied, rolling her eyes. “Sure.”

Zsasz patted the dog. “This is Winnie. Oswald wanted to call her Edward, but the kid—shit, you aren't supposed to know about that, my bad—talked him out of it the first time they FaceTimed post-collapse. Edwina seemed like a happy medium.” 

“Winnie for short?” Jeri asked, stooping to let the dog sniff her hand. “What a cute little devil.”

“Penguin wants to know why Chessmen attacked his crew,” Zsasz said. “Killed Tetch and Crane.”

“Doc’s been busy seein’ patients,” Jeri slurred, straightening back up as the dog whimpered.

“As long as they keep invaders out of the Narrows, I don’t care where else they go,” Lee said.

“Also,” Zsasz said hesitantly, “aren’t you afraid of a coup?” He looked at Jeri. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Jeri said amiably. “It’s not like they wanna be more than, you know. Symbols. I was kinda surprised, but also relieved?”

“Hey, I’m a fan,” Zsasz told her. “I told boss it’s a good thing he doesn’t want them dead.”

Lee cleared her throat, scanning the streets as they walked. “I don’t control the Chessmen.”

“You sure as hell used to,” Zsasz said, shifting his focus away from Jeri. “Boss needs you to.”

“If I agree to do that,” Lee said, drawing her gun, “what’s Oswald prepared to offer in return?”

“Bullets,” replied Zsasz, with one of his firearms at the ready, too. “You’ll run out eventually.”

“You can get those anywhere if you look,” Jeri commented dismissively. “What’s goin’ on?”

“With valuable hostages on hand, Penguin can’t risk more attacks,” Zsasz replied bluntly.

“You mean Bruce and Jeremiah?” Lee asked, realizing they were almost to Celestial Garden.

“Yep,” Zsasz said, covering Lee while she walked Jeri up to the door and knocked. Winnie sniffed the door, scratched at it, and barked in excitement. “They’re the only way he’ll get Jim to leave him and Nygma alone when this clusterfuck blows over.”

Lee stared at him. “Gutsy move. Jim wouldn’t care one way or another about Jeremiah, but holding Bruce is decent leverage.”

The club door opened a sliver. “Jeri?” asked a voice Lee almost didn’t recognize. “Is that you?”

“Sure is, Miss Thing,” Jeri agreed, and the door opened wider. “Why’d you come downstairs?”

“Avi was taking inventory of the bar, so we decided to help,” Five said, his eyes widening. “Lee?”

“Boss needs an answer,” Zsasz said, waving cheerfully at Five. “Are you gonna restore order?”

Lee gave Five a strained smile, and then turned to Zsasz. “What’s in it for me besides ammo?”

Five peered suspiciously down at Winnie, beckoning them all inside. “Maybe talk in private?”

“I dunno,” Zsasz admitted, watching Lee hand Jeri off to Five. “What would it take? Gold?”

Lee spotted Jerome at the back of the space, polishing glassware with Avi. She beckoned him.

“Heya, Doc,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he approached. “Why the house call?”

Winnie pawed at the scuffed toe of Jerome’s boot, barking just as excitedly as she had at the door.

“ _Oh_ ,” Zsasz said delightedly to the dog. “You found the other one, huh? Such a smart girl!”

“Jeri wasn’t feeling well,” Lee lied, realizing in the nick of time why it was best not to mention the precise nature of the price Jeri had paid in confronting Barbara. “Can I ask you something? I swear it’s relevant.”

Jerome shrugged, watching Jeri hand the tea to Five. “It’s a free post-apocalyptic hellscape.”

“What do you need for the wedding?” Lee said, satisfied at Zsasz’s sudden, utter bafflement.

“Jeri told you? Rude,” Jerome said, but quickly fell into contemplation. “Venue’s taken care of. It’s not like we’re gonna run out of booze, either.”

“They’re not allowed to invite more than fire-code capacity!” Avi called from the bar. “I’ll enforce that even if nobody gives a fuck!”

“Jeri gives way too many!” Five shouted back, clutching the tea. He glanced warily down at Jerome, who had crouched to scratch behind Winnie’s ears. “We aren’t allowed to stab anyone else, because OSHA!”

Jerome opened his mouth to speak, probably in sarcastic protest, but Jeri gave him a stern look from where she sat. Lee didn’t know whether it was pathetic or impressive that she recognized the impulse from Jerome’s expression.

“You can’t convince me the inspectors all evacuated!” she chided. “They’ll stop at nothing.”

Five took the tea back to the bar and rummaged for a mug. “I’ll bring it back,” he told Avi.

“You see what I put up with?” Jeri asked Lee. “I’m glad you’re getting to see this firsthand.”

“Why do you wanna know what we need?” Jerome demanded suspiciously. “Are you spying?”

“I was thinking along the lines of contributions,” Lee prompted. “Things you don’t have.”

“The food around here’s better than Arkham, but no haute cuisine,” Jerome confessed.

“That’s my price,” Lee said to Zsasz. “Tell Oswald to tap his supply lines for catering.”


	7. The Critic

After being rescued from Strange, Edward had expected that returning to some semblance of normal life with Oswald might prove a difficult adjustment. Life at City Hall was now quite _literally_ life at City Hall. In the realm of resourcefulness, Oswald had finally outdone himself. His control of several crucial production and supply lines was unquestionably the coup de grâce

Olga lent the unusual new order of things a certain gravitas. Edward had never faulted her for loyalty when he’d lived with Oswald at the Van Dahl Mansion, but her continued service under such bizarre circumstances felt like something above and beyond. She’d been relieved to see him, perhaps an indication that she knew about the condition that he and Lee had been in.

On his first night there, Edward hadn’t permitted Oswald to abandon him in one of the cramped guest rooms. After the lack of restraint they’d shown in front of everyone present for the Arkham rescue, he hadn’t cared who saw him follow Oswald to bed. Whatever had transpired over the several days he and Oswald caught up, fucked, and slept, Olga must have handled it.

By the time Bruce Wayne and Jeremiah Valeska had been brought in as unlikely hostages, Edward had established himself as Oswald’s advisor and consort. It had been an odd relief to realize that he’d never ceased to be either of those things in the eyes of everyone on the premises. Oswald’s tantrums permitted Edward to _re_ -establish himself as the sensible one.

Edward enjoyed watching Oswald sleep, a luxury he might have indulged in sooner had he been sensible enough to take what was on offer several years before. He sometimes begrudged Winnie her snuffling at the foot of the bed—but today, the dog was conspicuously absent. Quiet mornings like this were a respite in the midst of micro-managing the ever increasing chaos.

“Creepy,” Oswald mumbled into the pillows, but tugged Edward’s arm tighter around himself.

“You like it,” Edward said smugly, lips pressed to the back of Oswald’s neck. “Always have.”

“Goes both ways,” Oswald replied, stretching lazily. “You should’ve run while you could.”

Edward snorted, less amusement and more a nose-ful of Oswald’s flyaway hair. “I tried.”

“How did that work out for you?” Oswald asked, twisting around in Edward’s embrace.

“Not great,” Edward replied, unabashedly groping him, “but do you see me complaining?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Oswald said, finally pinning Edward flat. “There’s a meeting.”

“What meeting?” Edward asked suspiciously, too distracted to maintain focus for long.

“Housekeeping with Olga,” said Oswald, grinding against him. “The kind you don’t like.”

“While you take care of that,” Edward sighed, “I should find out why Zsasz never came back.”

“That happens,” Oswald snapped, ducking under the covers. “Victor’s more feral than ever.”

“Yes, but—but he took the dog,” Edward protested faintly, holding Oswald’s head in place.

Oswald stopped sucking just long enough to poke his head up for air, hair a comical mess.

“Hah! I knew you cared,” he said with vicious glee. “You have no room to complain now.”

“Please get on with it,” Edward groaned, pulling a pillow over his face. “This is undiginified.”

Oswald took pity and finished him off with the ruthless, but tender efficiency Edward had grown to prefer over any of the more drawn-out alternatives. Edward returned the favor once he caught his breath, pleased to find Oswald only seconds from climax.

“Any insights on how our moody young friends are faring?” Oswald panted, hauling Edward up for a kiss.

“At a loose end,” Edward said, patting Oswald’s belly in satisfaction, “but not trying to cause mischief.”

“The girls will have kept them on their toes, I imagine,” Oswald said. “Any noteworthy reports?”

“Only that Ivy’s plant trick scared them half out of their wits,” Edward said. “You’d better get down there before Olga comes knocking.”

Oswald went about dressing so quietly that Edward had nearly drifted off by the time he was finished. His sudden intake of breath startled Edward.

“They seem genuine, don’t they?” Oswald asked, sounding as vulnerable as he’d been when they first met.

“Signs point to yes. It’s the other two I’d put my money on as far as who’s going to last, though.”

“Who, Ivy and Harley?” Oswald asked, about to leave the room. “Tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

“No,” Edward clarified, “I meant Jerome and Five. You didn’t get to interact with them the way I did.”

“I’m not sure I would’ve wanted to,” Oswald said dismissively. “Especially not what you overheard.”

“Not like I had a choice,” Edward replied, sitting up amidst the covers. “But they were…sweet, somehow.”

“Sweet is not a descriptor I’d associate with Jerome,” Oswald said with distaste. “I’m leaving, Edward.”

“Whether you associate it with him or not is immaterial!” Edward shouted after him, rising to close the door. “He’s about as smitten as it gets!”

“I have a meeting, Edward!” Oswald shouted back, already descending the staircase. “Find someone else to bother with your social commentary!”

As it turned out, Edward didn’t have that long to wait. He came across Zsasz chatting with Ivy and Harley in the atrium almost as soon as he’d dressed and ventured out. Winnie, who’d been sitting at the girls’ feet, barked and trotted to Edward as he approached.

“Aw, Ed, she missed you!” Ivy gushed, and then turned her attention back to Zsasz. “Yeah yeah _yeah_. Got it. We’ll keep the leash this time.”

“As any good semi-namesake should,” Edward said derisively, waiting until Harley had scooped Winnie up in her arms to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “ _You_ won’t be going AWOL today, huh?”

“Don’t give her a challenge, Nygma,” Harley said warningly. “She’ll take you up on it, and then some.”

“I need a word with Zsasz,” Edward told the girls. “Take her…wherever you think she’s best contained.”

Zsasz waited until he and Edward were alone, and then spoke. “I didn’t get back until late last night.”

“I can’t imagine Lee throws that interesting a slumber party,” Edward said. “Was it because of the dog?”

“Because of the dog _how_?” Zsasz asked. “Like, wouldn’t give in to Oswald’s demands until I let her cuddle it? You wish. The deal got complicated.”

Edward led them away from the common space, lowering his voice. “What do you mean by that?”

“Lee was on her way to Celestial Garden when Winnie and I got there,” Zsasz said. “Had a drunk proprietress to deliver. I’ve never known Jeri to overindulge like that, ever, but I guess she’d just been at the Sirens before going to see Lee. Barb’s shots could do anyone in.”

“Unless there’s a point to this meandering tour de force,” said Edward, curtly, “just the deal, please.”

“It gets better, trust me. So, Winnie and I helped Lee walk Jeri back to her place. Lee wasn’t having any of it—saying she doesn’t tell the gangs what to do anymore, she’s only interested in running her medical practice, that kinda stuff. When we get to Celestial Garden, who answers the door but Five? He and Jerome have been there since the Sirens incident. I dunno if Jeri has put them to work or what, but they were happy to see Lee. What happened when you guys were stuck on the funny farm, anyhow? It was a regular Arkham reunion.”

“Enough happened to foster camaraderie,” Edward said testily. “How did it affect your ongoing conversation with Lee?”

“After a bunch of small talk, she says to Jerome—what do you need for the wedding?” Zsasz shook his head, making a seeming non-sequitur of the otherwise alarming question. “I mean, I didn’t know anything about that until she said it. Good for them, I guess?”

“Meaning—what, exactly?” Edward asked, attempting to keep his tone even. “Celestial Garden is gearing up to host for one of its clients? Jeri’s finally found someone to share her convoluted existence? What does this have to do with—”

“Meaning, Jerome and Five are tying the knot in what’ll be _the_ crowning event of this whole clusterfuck,” Zsasz said. “I hope I get an invite.”

Edward had to pause to gather his thoughts, suppressing the urge to shout in frustration. Oswald would be so far from calm when Edward broke the news that he might as well get his part of the overreaction out of the way.

“Let me see if I’ve understood,” he seethed, pressing his steepled index fingers to his lips in a futile effort to ground himself. “Not only does Lee refuse to wrangle the Chessmen into submission, but we have a major destabilizing event on the horizon?”

“ _Potentially_ destabilizing,” Zsasz said. “Just let me finish! So, Lee asks Jerome what they need, the implication being something besides booze and a venue. The kiddos agreed food was the sticking point, so...” He finally looked unhappy. “Lee says she’ll bring Narrows gang activity back under her control as long as Oswald agrees to, uh, provide catering. And also let the boys borrow Harley and Ivy for liturgical and floral purposes respectively. That seemed to be implied. We kinda celebrated after that, in a lowkey chill kinda way? Avi from the Foxglove tends bar for Jeri now, super on-point. Everybody had cocktails except the happy couple. Jeri brought Five some Earl Grey from the Sirens, so mostly those two were hopped up on caffeine and sugar. Did you know Jerome’s really into good old-fashioned Coke? Basic bitch, am I right?”

“Catering,” Edward echoed, plucking the lone signal from noise. “She thinks Oswald will consider that fair exchange, no robbery? Digging into private provisions to feed…who _knows_ how many?”

“Avi says fire capacity on that place is like a hundred people max, so definitely no more than that.”

Edward couldn’t help letting slip a hysterical laugh. Oswald would only get what he wanted out of Lee if he agreed to bend to her illogical fondness for a pair of lovesick, psychopathic kids. He didn’t doubt Lee was dead serious, and Zsasz was too excited about the looming event to be lying.

“This isn’t what I expected from Lee,” Edward said. “Exquisite inconvenience, though, I’ll give her that.”

“It’s the catering you can’t get your head around?” Zsasz asked. “I thought for sure it’d be the wedding. You won’t know the date until invitations for whomever arrive, but it’s gonna be set within weeks since there’s the possibility of Gotham getting invaded and put under martial law.”

Edward knew he had little choice but to deliver Lee’s offer to Oswald, as well as do his best to pitch it. There were a myriad drawbacks, but Zsasz made a salient point about the impending threat of military violence. Thus far, Jim had gotten precisely nowhere in his attempts to negotiate with the military, whose major tactical move had been to riddle the river with explosives in hopes of keeping everyone trapped on the island.

Edward was missing something, like an obvious silver lining. Maybe letting this information slip to Jim—and, by extension, the mainland—was exactly the bait the military would need to decisively act. Maybe it would give them a fair shot at uniting and mobilizing against their invaders.

Maybe it was the kind of stand-off in which Bruce Wayne could be used as a bargaining chip to negotiate a cease-fire if resistance failed.

“Actually, this…” Edward tapped his lips again. “This is an opportunity. Thank you, Zsasz.”

“Throw in Winnie’s services as the flower girl, and Jerome likely won’t bug you ever again. She was a real hit with Jeri and the boys. She was all proud of herself for recognizing someone related to Jeremiah. Ivy says she likes running off to the guest room because Bruce feeds her.”

“Nice try. Oswald won’t let Winnie anywhere near it,” Edward said adamantly. “Neither will I.”

“Anyhow, gotta catch up with the girls,” Zsasz said, wandering off with a cheery wave. “Later!”

Dreading the task ahead of him, Edward decided there would be no harm in putting it off until evening. He frequently didn’t get to see Oswald again until then anyhow. Waiting another couple of hours until the dining room was unoccupied seemed like the best course of action.

Edward found Bruce and Jeremiah there when he finally went. The boys were eating, otherwise engaged in some kind of heated discussion. They fell silent when Edward claimed one of the seats across from them, unblinking and suspicious.

“That’s not unnerving at _all_ ,” Edward said conversationally, indicating to Olga, when she emerged from the kitchen, that she should turn right back around and fetch him something. “There are two options here—you’re setting the world to rights, or you’re plotting its demise.”

“I guess you’re in luck,” said Jeremiah, sarcastically. “Bruce isn’t playing bad cop today.”

“Actually, Edward,” Bruce ventured, “there’s something we’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Why not ask Oswald?” Edward said, not above toying with them for Jeremiah’s insolence.

“Because you’re more accessible _and_ more sensible,” Jeremiah admitted grudgingly.

Edward thanked Olga with a nod as she brought him a cup and saucer. “What can I help you with? Personal favor, political intrigue…?”

“The former,” Bruce replied. “We need access to a phone, to let someone on the mainland know we’re safe. While we understand that Oswald is keeping Jim apprised of our status, we doubt Jim has the time to pass these along consistently.”

“I’m sure Messrs. Pennyworth and Fox have been persistent enough to wrangle that information.”

“They’re not the ones we need to reach,” Jeremiah interjected. “It’s…a friend, if you can believe we have one of those who _isn’t_ twice our age. What do you need in exchange?”

When Bruce didn’t contradict Jeremiah’s statement or retract his offer of a trade, Edward considered his options carefully. He’d already been handed so much potential, but the unpleasantness still outweighed it. Perhaps there was an opportunity here, too.

“Jimbo confiscated your phones when you were staying at the precinct, didn’t he? Rude.”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed. “But we know the party’s number offhand. It won’t be an issue.”

Edward removed his flip-phone from his jacket and slid it across the table. “You’re welcome to use it on the condition that you do it right now. You’ll put the party on speaker so I get to hear everything. Also, you’ll do me a favor, which I’ll ask once the call is through.”

Jeremiah shrugged his assent, which prompted Bruce to look back to Edward. He opened the phone, dialed the mystery friend’s number, and put the call on speaker as instructed.

“Ugh, really?” said Selina Kyle, almost instantly on answering. “What do you _want_ , Ed?”

“Oh, um,” Bruce faltered, “this isn’t Ed. He was…kind enough to let us use his phone.”

“You have no _clue_ what kinda errands he used to have me run while Penguin was mayor.” Selina sucked in her breath. “So, I guess what Alfred’s hearing is true? You’ve been captured? If they ain’t treatin’ you right, just put Ed on. He owes me big time.”

Edward couldn’t help but find Jeremiah’s reaction surprising. For someone who didn’t like to share Bruce, his expression suggested fondness.

“He’s right here, so say what you like,” Jeremiah said. “Eavesdropping rights came with the deal.”

“Goddamn,” Selina said, sounding close to laughter herself. “Chief of staff again, back at the top?”

“Sort of, but with a significant promotion,” Edward replied. “I’ll let you get on with your chat.”

“Gross,” Selina said, but didn’t sound shocked. “Bruce, I kept sending broadcasts. I hoped you’d hear. I’m gonna guess you didn’t make it to the penthouse to retrieve the radio.”

“No, we didn’t,” Bruce sighed. “I knew you would wonder why we hadn’t gotten in touch.”

“Sounds like a regular party out there,” said Selina. “Hey, did anybody else get lucky trackin’ down the freaks? Jim says you botched your shot, so…I’m guessin’ they’re still AWOL.”

“Not quite true,” Edward cut in. “We know exactly where they are. Strangely, they’ve lain low.”

“It’s wild to think, but you’re probably in the safest place you can be,” Selina said incredulously.

“Ironic,” Jeremiah agreed mildly, tapping the table. “Anything we ought to know on your end?”

“Just that Alfred’s so frustrated with the situation he could choke. Fox trusts you to play it out.”

“I don’t know how much agency we have,” Bruce replied soberly. “The best we can do is react.”

“Hate to cut this short,” Selina said, her tone strained with regret, “but I’ve gotta go. Stay safe.”

Edward took back the phone and hung up the call. “Banal. Was that really worth all the fuss?”

“Fine, you’ve upheld your part of the bargain,” Jeremiah retorted. “What’s our part look like?”

“Potentially ugly,” Edward said, fixing Bruce with a hard look. “Your enemies are engaged.”

“Enemies or family?” Bruce countered. “We don’t know which to call them. Wait— _really_?”

Jeremiah had already covered his face, fingertips digging along the ridges of his eyebrows.

“I wish you were bluffing to have us on,” he muttered with an edge of hysteria, “but…unlikely.”

“That’s a huge risk,” Bruce said. “I’m stunned Jeri would let them take it. So, what do we do?”

Jeremiah let his fingers creep down to his cheeks. He’d exacerbated the redness limning his pale eyes.

“Every road you could have us take leads to ruin,” he said thinly. “That was underhanded, even for you. I’d be impressed if I weren’t suppressing the urge to cut out your tongue.”

“You’ll come with me to tell Oswald,” Edward replied. “You’ll agree to be part of the contingency plans I propose. You’ll also brief us on the worst you think they can do if this event gets out of hand. I got to know them a little, but _nobody_ knows them better than the two of you. Understood?”

What Edward found most unnerving wasn’t Jeremiah’s agitation. It was Bruce’s stony silence.


	8. The God-Shaken

Oswald couldn’t deny the novelty of having agreed to a plan that was almost entirely of Edward’s devising. He supposed Bruce and Jeremiah had some kind of hand in it, too. Their recalcitrant demeanor suggested that Edward had somehow convinced them to play a more active part than just acknowledging that they were strategic hostages.

That night, Oswald let Edward know _exactly_ how appreciated his return to a tactical role was. Once Edward fell asleep, Oswald rose, donned his loungewear, and made his way to the kitchen.

Olga was diligently preparing the next day’s provisions. She pulled a face when he walked in.

“That smells wonderful,” Oswald said, sticking his nose in the stock-pot she’d left unattended.

“Is not time for snack,” Olga scolded, waving him away from the stove. “Is not even midnight.”

“Your butchered idioms remain as charming as ever,” Oswald told her. “Olga, I need advice.”

Olga stopped chopping a ragtag assortment of root vegetables, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Aha,” she said smugly, leaning hard on the counter. “A thing that I give from time to time.”

“Yes, fine,” Oswald said. “I need to convince everyone in this godforsaken city to set aside their differences and be ready to fight on short notice.”

“If this is about freak wedding and risk of invasion,” Olga said tartly, “opinions will be split.”

“Maybe it’ll depend on who’s asking,” Oswald went on. “Maybe it’ll depend on Jim’s support.”

“Oh, then this is easy,” Olga sighed, resuming her knife. “Have meeting with Narrows ladies.”

“Uh, hello,” Oswald said, smacking the counter impatiently. “There are a lot of those in play!”

“Bare minimum, you must consult Sirens,” Olga said. “Cover your bases, Lee and Jeri also.”

“No Jeri,” Oswald insisted. “She’d press for execution of my hostages, given her squad failed.”

“Lee can stay out of meeting,” Olga said. “Is the one making us cater. Already informed.”

“Tabitha isn’t fond of me these days—not that she ever was—but I can’t see a way around it.”

“They trade information, will get word out,” Olga replied. “Run most crowded club in city.”

“We’re overdue a talk,” Oswald said, “and Barbara has Jim’s ear even if she doesn’t want it.”

“That man does not stop when he is ahead,” Olga sighed, carrying the cutting board to the pot.

Feeling the strain in his leg, Oswald hopped onto a nearby stool. “Have you spoken with Martín? I know calling too often isn’t safe, but—”

“Less harm as danger rises,” Olga said reluctantly. “We speak on lunch break. Impatient boy.”

“Did he ask to see Winnie?” Oswald asked. “Did you tell him she’s too busy for that lately?”

“I tell him we have strange guests,” Olga replied, dumping the chopped vegetables into her stock. “She is occupied making new friends. And then he is only asking questions about outlaw billionaire and engineer. Something about connection to school. Extremely boring.”

“Oh,” Oswald said, the information ringing a bell. “St. Ignatius, where he’s boarding—Jeremiah Valeska was sent there for…similar…” He could understand why Martín wouldn’t let go of the idea. It was likely easier to swallow, knowing he wasn’t the first child to be separated from his family and protected by the administration. “You keep telling him he’ll be with us as soon as reunification occurs, whenever that might be?”

“ _Da_. Has been long year. He is happy you saved Edward, holds fond memories of him.”

“All of the single day he spent with him, give or take,” Oswald sighed. “Edward is going to be a permanent part of his life now, for better or worse.”

Olga gave Oswald a deadpan look. “For Martín, there is no worse. You must take him back.”

“I know,” Oswald sighed, sliding off the stool. “Good night, Olga. I might go up to the roof.”

“I would steer clear,” Olga replied, a seemingly cryptic non-sequitur. “Too many night owls.”

Rather than follow Olga’s advice, Oswald decided to see what she meant. He knew that Ivy and Harley had gotten into the habit of taking Winnie up there. The weather was still warm enough.

Besides, the only people with access were already inside the building. He had nothing to fear.

Oswald took the maintenance elevator, grateful that it opened onto the same unremarkable cement landing that the staircase did. Making sure the door out into open air closed soundlessly behind him was easy enough. There was a stiff breeze, and it carried familiar voices.

“…still beautiful, even in ruin,” Jeremiah was saying. “Even though I’ll always regret…”

“…is, but you can’t think about it like that,” Bruce replied. “We wouldn’t have had…”

Briefly, Oswald wondered if he ought to have come armed with more than just a switchblade. He keeping his stance low, he made a dash for the impressive beginnings of a rooftop garden that the girls had left in progress, peering from between the rampant vines’ blossoms and leaves.

The boys lay side by side, just far enough from the building’s edge to be safe, staring at the sky. They’d spread what looked like the guest room’s only spare linens, and had even gotten tangled in some of them.

Jeremiah said something else Oswald couldn’t hear, and then rolled onto his side, resting his head against Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce didn’t respond, except to rest his cheek against Jeremiah’s hair. When Jeremiah spoke again, it was lower than a whisper. Bruce shifted, pinning him with a kiss. Jeremiah twined his fingers with Bruce’s above their heads, just letting it happen.

Oswald turned his back on the proceedings before the sounds from behind him got louder again, but grew progressively less like speech. The last coherent thing he heard, before closing the door soundlessly behind himself again, could have been said in laughter or in tears.

_Speaking of regrets, I wish we could’ve done this from where we could see the flames._

Unbidden, Oswald recalled what he’d seen that night as the first explosions had rocked the city—not beyond the warehouse’s plate glass windows, but on his own side of them. He’d watched Bruce rush to his wounded lover’s side—the wounded co-architect of their city’s ruin, no less—and press a handkerchief to the spot from which blood had spread like flame. 

Oswald’s response had been bitter disbelief: _Wait, do you mean to tell me that_ this _is a thing?_

Only now did he understand how shaken he’d been, and how fundamentally altered his perception. Only now did he understand why, instead of leaving Edward to finish dying at Lee’s side, he’d instructed his crew to rush them both to the one place in the city they might be saved.

Bruce and Jeremiah, after one agonizing day of transformation, had implicitly understood that salvation came at a price. And Oswald had despised them for so unreservedly choosing, on their very first harrowing try, to pay it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there are strong references back to earlier parts of this series scattered throughout this final story, this chapter in particular makes reference back to the events of [**_The Meaning of This City_**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910861).


	9. The Builder

Maybe it was commentary on how much the Arkham situation had sucked, but Harley had to admit that life in Oswald’s stronghold was more fun than Jeremiah’s bunker had _ever_ been. Palaces built out of sheer paranoia sure beat mazes, especially when there was a dog in the mix.

At breakfast, Harley gleaned from Oswald’s and Edward’s hushed conversation that Oswald had come across Bruce and Jeremiah on the roof last night. She passed that along to Ivy in a whisper. One, it was a shame they missed the chance to freak them out with Ivy’s plants _that_ way. Two, it was a shame the boys were still asleep, because Jeremiah’s pissy expression in response to the whispering would’ve been priceless.

“You two sound busy,” Oswald said cattily, raising his voice from the far end of the table where he and Edward sat. “Plans for the day?”

“We’re gonna go over to Jeri’s,” Ivy said, giving him a thumbs-up. “Part of the diplomatic mission you gave us, remember?”

“ _I_ gave it to you,” Edward said, right on cue with his passive-aggression, “and that’s good.”

Harley pushed around what was left of her instant oatmeal, wondering if Olga’s supply had dwindled from brand-name stuff to weird generics.

“We’ve got some logistics to hash out. Also, I’ve gotta show them proof I got that hilarious internet ordination. I bet it would be a lot more fun if they’d let me do it in cult leader mode, but Jerome might get offended.”

“You were upholding both the twins’ legacies!” Ivy said indignantly. “Jerome’s an ingrate.”

“I’d be salty if I was him,” Harley admitted. “Besides, I don’t want Five getting stabby.”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “And here I wondered on what grounds their relationship was founded.”

“Gotta go,” Ivy said, dabbing her lips, dragging Harley out of her chair. “See ya later, Ed. Good luck with Pengy’s tantrum.”

Harley didn’t like the fact that dragging along a couple of notebooks and pens was necessary. She thought she’d left that behind when she found herself out of a PA job with Jeremiah, and she’d been happier for it, too. The guns, though, she was all too happy to carry.

“I’ll take the notes, babe,” Ivy offered, knocking as they reached Celestial Garden. “I know you hate having to keep track of everything.”

Harley sent off the text that would alert everyone inside to their presence. “Aw, hey. Thanks.”

Five pulled the door open a fraction, peering out at them. “Got your text. Had to make sure.”

“Bless your weird little heart,” Harley sighed, striding inside as he held the door. “Where’s the other half? Sleepin’ off his latest sugar rush?”

“Jerome’s not allowed to have any more Coke this week,” Five sighed, which was damning enough. “Jeri’s onstage. Avi’s fiddling with gels.”

“You wear the cutest shit,” Ivy said, eyeing Five’s bleach-stained black tee, beat-up jeans, and floral Doc Martens. “You’re not a poser, either.”

Five shrugged, leading them to the bar. He hopped up on a stool, where he’d already uncorked a bottle of prosecco and set out three glasses.

“We need to wait until Jerome comes downstairs,” Five said. “Don’t worry, I’ve texted him.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” Harley said, taking a swallow of the bubbly wine.

“Man, Cat and I never grifted this place,” Ivy sighed, clinking her glass off Five’s and Harley’s in turn. “We were missin’ out.”

“I stopped scavenging and picking pockets when the Foxglove hired me,” Five said. “Lucy was adamant that whatever else we were, theft wouldn’t be tolerated. The clientèle did tip well, even those of us who weren’t service staff. I was usually on security. Avi was always on the bar.”

“Service staff?” Harley asked, topping off her glass. “Ain’t mixin’ cocktails just that?”

“Service staff is what the Foxglove calls its sex workers,” Five clarified. “Some of the staff did different kinds of shifts by choice. I went around with canapés and drink trays if I needed the extra cash. Alternating between serving as Lucy’s bodyguard and being on the door didn’t always make ends meet. Most patrons found me attractive enough to tip. If I hadn’t been wearing a mask like everyone else, might’ve been a different story.”

Ivy cringed, forcing her breath out between her teeth. “Yeah, I can see where a so-called Bruce Wayne doppelgänger might get a certain kinda...unwanted attention in a place like that.”

Five nodded. “Just before the bridges blew, I’d been considering dominatrix shifts. I wouldn’t have needed to do much more than wear bondage gear and perform non-direct-contact client requests. One wrong move from any client, and I would’ve been allowed to deal with them.”

“You and Lucy are both lucky you got outta there in the long run,” Avi said, coming over from where they’d just dismounted the ladder set up under the stage lights. “She didn’t have a hefty enough insurance policy to deal with the kind of injuries you might’ve dealt without meaning to.”

Five scowled at Avi, topped off Ivy’s and Harley’s glasses, and started drinking prosecco straight from the bottle. “I can control it when I want to.”

“You never wanted to,” Avi shot back, tossing the cork. “That’s why security was the best use for you.”

Jerome wandered in from the hall that led to the staircase, yawning. He was in the kind of outfit Harley would’ve _paid_ to see on Jeremiah. Jerome’s idea of casual was a bizarre cross between lazy college student and tasteless dandy.

“I dunno,” Jerome interjected, pressing a kiss to Five’s cheek. “My baby’s never gone too far, not once.” He hooked his collar with one finger and drew it down a fraction, showing off an impressive scar.

“Okay, ew,” Ivy said with cheerful sarcasm, waving her hand at him. “No more of that. We’re here to talk logistics.”

Five smacked Jerome’s hand away from the bottle of ginger beer he’d just tried to swipe over the counter. “You haven’t even had breakfast.”

“How do you know?” Jerome challenged, accepting the mug of black coffee that Avi handed him. “So, uh...we got our clergy and our florist?”

“Yeah, and that ain’t the hard part,” Harley said, getting down to business. “It’s the food situation. Nygma says Penguin’ll only contribute twenty plates’ worth of grub if they don’t make the guest list. Invite ’em, and it goes up to fifty.”

Five side-eyed Jerome, asking a convoluted question without saying a word.

Jerome stared at the floor, tapped his chin, and slurped his coffee.

“Don’t see why not,” he said, shrugging. “I’m down if you are, precious.”

“That’s fine by me,” Five insisted. “You know I’ll be fine with whatever.”

“Heh. Perks of havin’ an antisocial fiancé,” Jerome said proudly. “Let’s talk invitations. Who else on your side do we need to include?”

Ivy swilled her glass. “It might not mean much, but the assholes don’t wanna kill you anymore. Maybe you should consider—”

“No,” Five said sharply, putting an arm around Jerome. “That’s not on the table.”

“An’ I suppose you agree?” Harley asked Jerome, who wasn’t paying attention.

Jerome glanced up at her, his gaze scathing. “Uh, _yeah_. Don’t want those jerks anywhere near my princess. _Or_ near me.”

“Well, that’s settled,” Ivy said briskly, checking a couple items off the list. “Pengy doesn’t have a printing press for invites.”

“No need,” Five said. “Jerome’s already taking care of that. He’s leaving blanks for names.”

“What, like DIY?” Harley asked incredulously. “Gonna ask Jeri to borrow her scrapbooking kit?”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Jerome warned. “I messed with a lot of stuff during rec hours while I was doin’ time. Y’know…free-writes, journaling. Before I knew it, there were stickers and stamps involved. Slippery slope, but curiously liberating.”

“Righty-o, I’m not gonna ask,” Ivy muttered, checking off another item. “What else?”

“You didn’t say what _kind_ of food those twenty or fifty plates are gonna be,” Avi pointed out. “I’d like to know what we’re dealing with. Prep-time on site or off site? We don’t have kitchen staff like Penguin.”

Harley gritted her teeth. “Off site, delivered hot, I guess,” she said to Ivy. “Take that down.”

“Olga’s gonna love it, Oswald’s gonna hate it,” Ivy replied, making note with a flourish.

“Even if the bar had a kitchen, I wouldn’t let the maid do it here,” Jeri interjected, covered in dust from whatever subsequent fiddling she’d done with the gels on the lights. “Woulda been gazpacho and shrimp cocktail all the way.”

“Olga’s more of a butler than a maid these days, but whatever,” Ivy said. “Just to have a rough current head-count, can we review?”

Five closed his eyes and leaned forward on the bar. He was either exhausted or concentrating.

“Jeri, Avi, Jerome, me. You two. Penguin and Mr. Nygma,” he recited, and then paused. “Zsasz and Lee. Olga, since she’ll have to oversee food presentation. Jerome, what about...”

“Ms. Galavan and Ms. Kean?” Jerome asked. “Might as well for old times’ sake. Maniax gang’s all here. What survives of us.”

Harley did a quick tally of the names from memory. “I count thirteen. That doesn’t get anywhere near fifty. Maybe you should just...keep it simple?”

“My band and security get to eat,” Jeri added. “That’s about twelve on any given night.”

“That’s twenty-five,” Harley went on, tallying the additions. “What about the other half?”

“First twenty-five on the club door,” Five suggested. “Regulars only. Bouncers can turn away who they don’t recognize. I don’t want to have to kill anyone. OSHA violation.”

“Kid, would you just let it go?” Jeri griped. “Harpin’ on that in-joke ain’t funny anymore.”

“Hilarious, sweet pea,” Jerome laughed, catching Five around the waist, almost hauling him off the stool. “You’ve mastered the running gag. All we gotta work on next is timing.”

“You guys are just...wow,” Harley said sarcastically, polishing off the remainder of her glass. “Gotta get an improv night up in here.”

“No!” said Five and Avi, in utterly terrified unison. Their matching inflection was uncanny.

“Hear that, J-man? Still outvoted,” Jeri told Jerome, and then turned to Harley. “I abstain.”

“Hey,” Five said, lifting his head from his arms, turning to Jerome. “I have an idea about…”

Harley tried to eavesdrop on what Five whispered in Jerome’s ear, but the only audible words were _we should consider_ and _would piss them off_.

Jerome’s cackling made everyone except Five twitch. “Oh, now _that’s_ what I call art.”

“C’mon, share with the class,” Ivy said, otherwise engrossed in texting Edward. “I’m all ears.”

“Princess says we’ve gotta send Jimbo an invite,” Jerome explained slyly. “He’ll never show, but if he does? It’ll make Brucie and my bro seethe.”

“What could go wrong,” said Jeri, with displeasure. “Might as well invite the whole GCPD.”

“Can’t hurt,” Harley admitted, grudgingly amused, “but if it does? Jim’s the one who suffers.”

“Invite Gordon, my ass,” Avi said, pointing at Five’s nose. “No cops in the Foxglove, and for _sure_ no cops here. Did I tell you what happened the time Bullock snuck in? Way before you started workin’ for us—back when we were itinerant, word-of-mouth only. You do that, I don’t show up.”

Five went so pale that Harley thought he might be nauseous. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Got it.”

Jerome must’ve gained a modicum of common sense. Rather than remark, he just hugged Five.

Ivy finished typing whatever novel she’d been working on. “Retract the suggestion, or I tell Ed.”

“First twenty-five on the door sounds legit,” Harley said contritely, getting them back on track.

Jeri was staring at the bottles of hard liquor, but she didn’t ask Avi to pour her anything. “Yup.”

“I’m sorry,” Five repeated, dull and uninflected. “I shouldn’t have wanted to make them pay.”

“They’re paying as it is,” Avi said, oddly gentle now, opening the ginger beer. “Y’all share.”

Harley watched Jerome refuse the first sip and encourage Five to drink his fill. As if the time she’d spent with him during their Arkham ordeal hadn’t been telling enough, it was obvious that almost everything Jeremiah had _ever_ told her about him was wrong.

“God, J’s an asshole,” Harley said to Jerome and Five. “Let’s find another way to piss him off.”


	10. The River

Three days after the planning visit to Celestial Garden, Ivy woke up to Harley tapping her on the forehead with a piece of paper. She opened her eyes and realized it was an envelope with what looked like hand-cut rubber stamp lettering. _HARLEY + IVY, C/O COBBLEPOT_.

“That’s, like, just a step above cutting letters out of magazines ransom-letter style,” Ivy said.

“It’s creative,” Harley agreed, settling back to sit cross-legged on the mattress, ripping it open. “The letters are small, within a specific radius. I bet he carved up wine corks.”

“And cracked a _ton_ of pens open,” Ivy suggested, taking the envelope from Harley, brushing at the smudgy black ink. “Not all twenty-five invitees need one of these to themselves, so…maybe he did like twelve or so, most people doubled up with partners?”

“Aw, see, here we just got a buncha weird stickers—ooh, hey, Jeri must have had these metallic stars kickin’ around, and these old Mr. Yuks! Haven’t seen ’em in ages,” Harley said, holding the card out for Ivy to inspect. “The announcement part and the date are just handwritten in different colors of highlighter. That boy did _not_ get great marks in penmanship.”

“How do circus brats attend school?” Ivy asked, squinting at the date in Jerome’s erratic all-caps. “That’s a week from today. Oswald’s gonna flip.”

“Same way we street rats do, if at all?” Harley countered. “At least we have time to find clothes.”

“I bet Five’s got neat handwriting,” Ivy sighed, tossing the card aside. “He imitated Cat’s once. Fooled the hell out of Bruce.”

“He’s a killing machine _and_ a forger?” Harley asked, flopping down beside her. “Damn, Jerome hit the jackpot.” She traced from Ivy’s exposed sternum down to her satin-robe-covered bellybutton. “Not as big as I did, though. I’d like to see Five try an’ boss plants around.”

“Can we stop talking about your ex-boss’s creepy undead twin and the person who once tried to kill my best friend?” Ivy griped, but she arched into the touch anyway. “I know we’re mostly cool with them, but that’s not who I wanna think about while you’re seducing me.”

“Huh, I never had that issue,” Harley mused. “You could talk about just about anything while you’re goin’ down on me. I got off with you yakkin’ about what we planted on the roof.”

“Yup,” Ivy breathed, squirming in satisfaction when Harley worked her hand under the fabric.

“All I regret’s the handful of guys I blew through before realizin’ I prefer girls,” Harley admitted, slipping two fingers inside. “Knew that by the time I met J. Him bein’ gay, too—major selling point. No messy attempts at workplace romance.”

“Jeez, bring up Bruce, why don’t ya,” Ivy said breathily. “Complete the… _ah_ , hat trick.”

“I’m a talker, so sue me!” Harley laughed, doing that clever, clever thing with her thumb. “Why should I halt the conversation when I can multi-task so well? How ya doin’, Red?”

Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, grinding up against the sudden pressure of Harley’s palm. Harley crooked her fingers just hard enough against the right spot. Not enough to be excruciating, but enough to _almost_ hurt. Orgasm was a fine line between extremes.

“No idea,” Ivy panted, trying to catch her breath after several seconds of not being able to speak.

“See? Another satisfied customer,” Harley said, kissing her on the cheek, and then on the lips.

“Another?” Ivy scoffed teasingly, flipping Harley on her back. “You been hittin’ up Olga?”

“Hey, if I was into older ladies, why _wouldn’t_ I?” Harley wheezed. “Russian accent!”

“You want me to try doin’ one?” Ivy whined, nipping from Harley’s collarbone to her belly.

“Jeez, no!” Harley shrieked, her giggle breaking on a sharp gasp when Ivy gave her a lick.

“That hurts, babe,” Ivy replied, realizing her words might be too muffled to understand. “See, I mighta said the same…about Fish Mooney, rest her soul, but I was…mostly too young to think that at the time.” She applied herself with more fervor. “ _Mmm_. Nice?”

Harley wasn’t doing much more than make noises at this point, so Ivy finished her off quickly.

“ _Nice_?” Harley said indignantly, chest heaving. “Understatement. I ain’t a prude like the boys. You’re a damn fine fuck.”

“Aw, thanks,” Ivy said, crawling up to kiss Harley’s neck. “Hate to say it, but I’m still hungry.”

Once they’d thrown on clothes, Harley suggested they take their invitation to breakfast. Even if nobody else brought _theirs_ , they’d be able to compare notes. She wanted to see more of Jerome’s hilariously horrifying handiwork.

Oswald and Edward were nearly finished eating when they reached the dining room. There was next no conversation in progress, which made Ivy think that they weren’t happy about the date.

“Check it out, Pengy,” Ivy said, slapping down the eccentrically decorated card. “How’s yours?”

“Hard on the eyes,” Oswald replied dismissively, sliding it back at her. “They like you better.”

Edward snatched it up with interest, adjusting his glasses. “You didn’t get any yellow marker. Ours was almost entirely yellow and green.”

“Harsh,” Harley cringed, helping herself to Oswald’s cold toast. “Hey, Olga! Sorry we’re late.”

“Is no good!” Olga shouted back from the kitchen. “Lazy girls will have cold fruit!”

“Fine by me,” Ivy said absently, studying the invitation again. “BYOB if you want more than one drink, it says. Jeri’s rationing.”

“Can’t blame her,” Oswald said, getting to his feet, giving Edward a look. “I’d do the same.”

“Places to be,” Edward sighed, wiping his mouth, dropping his napkin. “Show you ours later.”

Having shown up later than usual, Ivy and Harley got a good ten minutes to themselves before Zsasz swung by to grab some toast and a piece of fruit. He spotted their invitation on the table, lit up, and drew his own out of his pocket.

“We’re who’s who in Gotham,” Zsasz said, holding their cards side by side. “You got, like, blue and purple marker goin’ on. The Mr. Yuks are a nice touch, am I right? Pink ones _and_ green ones. Haven’t seen these since I was a kid.”

“That’s what I said,” Harley agreed, chewing on an apple slice. “Those little foil stars, too. Used to get ’em on spelling tests.”

“Jerome shoulda had Five write these out, though,” Zsasz said. “Lucy had him write signs at the Foxglove. He could do, like, any style.”

“Yeah, I learned about that in a less fun way,” Ivy grumbled, peeling an orange she’d freshened.

“Anyway, gotta go,” Zsasz said, sticking a piece of toast in his mouth. “Time to plan wardrobe!”

“He’s gonna be fun to have there,” said Harley. “And I’m gonna make Five write out my name.”

“Make him imitate your handwriting,” Ivy suggested, glancing up in surprise at who walked in next. “That’s a way better souvenir.”

“Handwriting?” Bruce yawned, only marginally more alert than Jeremiah. “Souvenir of what?”

“Well…” Harley handed their invitation to Jeremiah as he sat down next to her. “You’ve been spared one of these, that’s the up-side.”

Bruce sat down beside Jeremiah, leaning to study the card with grim fascination. “That’s…huh.”

Ivy couldn’t help enjoying way Jeremiah’s expression was getting progressively more pinched.

“While I was drawing maze designs, he was butchering newspapers for collages,” Jeremiah said.

“Those are probably worth a ton of money,” Harley replied. “Do you know if any survived?”

“My childhood designs?” Jeremiah asked, glancing up from the card. “I saved some, so—”

“She meant Jerome’s collages,” Ivy said, exchanging uncomfortable glances with Bruce.

“Did you save the diary?” Jeremiah asked Harley snidely. “Sell _that_ , for all I care.”

“Aw, shit,” Harley said, eyes going wide. “What _did_ I do with it after Stoker, anyway?”

Bruce, who’d been speaking to Olga in low, polite tones, tuned back into the conversation.

“I suppose it means they don’t want us there?” he ventured. “That we didn’t get one of these?”

“We know for a fact they don’t want you there,” Ivy said, splitting orange slices. “They said so.”

Jeremiah was still staring at Harley. “It’s suddenly of interest to me, what became of that book.”

“Jeez, J, I dunno!” Harley retorted. “You mighta dropped it in the grave. I was busy that day!”

“You had the truck,” Jeremiah prompted. “Might you have taken it to the vehicle? Would it have stayed there? What about the old church?”

“I have no fuckin’ clue why you want it,” said Harley. “Nobody’s gonna pay for that. If you find it, what you _should_ do is give it back to Jerome.”

“I agree,” Bruce said reluctantly. “In the unlikely event it turns up, it does belong with him.”

Jeremiah couldn’t express disgruntlement without it looking like an impressive pouting fit.

“My only interest was in comparing stylistic elements between the invitations and the diary.”

“Why?” Harley challenged. “What would it tell you about him that you don’t already know?”

“I didn’t take the time to get to know him,” Jeremiah said grudgingly. “Not like I should have.”

“Hey, you can get to know somebody through their art,” Ivy said. “That makes some sense.”

“Jeez, fine, we’ll keep an eye out for it,” Harley retorted, “in the unlikely event we cross town!”

Ivy shoved as much of the orange in her mouth as she could, eyes darting to her phone when it buzzed. She did a double-take at the number.

“Harl, if you’re done, we’ve gotta split,” Ivy said, waving the phone. “Potentially important.”

“It’s been fun,” Harley said to Jeremiah, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Enjoy your leftovers.”

As they rushed out, Ivy’s phone buzzed again. Ivy answered it, breathless in the echoing atrium.

“What the hell? I told you texting was safer! Also, I haven’t heard from you in _weeks_!”

“Nice to hear you, too,” Selina muttered. “Fancy plant powers or not, you’re still sour grapes.”

“Hiya, Cat!” Harley said loudly, and then slapped both hands over her mouth. “Oops. My bad.”

“Datin’ the loud-mouthed clown girl, huh?” Selina said wryly. “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”

“We can’t talk long,” Ivy hissed. “There’s kind of a lot happening. Goin’ through some stuff.”

“I hate to break it to ya,” Selina said, “but we’re goin through some stuff here, too. The military schmucks are restless. You’re gonna need help.”

“Are you offering?” Ivy asked. “It’d be swell, but I doubt Fox has another transport trick up his sleeve. You need to stay, keep him and Alfred—”

“Bridgit sent a message,” Selina said, almost in a whisper. “She said she can get me out there.”

“Good luck to her,” Ivy said warily. “She’s as trapped as the rest of us, last time I checked. Has a bigger area of the city blocked off than many, though. She and Fries split Crane’s and Tetch’s holdings after they croaked.”

“Yeah, and her plan won’t work _without_ Fries,” Selina replied. “Just…wish me luck?”

“Why are you always such a martyr?” Ivy shot back. “You’re as bad as Bruce! We’re fine.”

“I worry about you,” Selina said, “and Bruce, _and_ his kooky boyfriend. Plus, it’s…” She sucked in her breath, causing static. “It’s so _dull_ here, Ives.”

“Adrenaline junkie,” Harley said, obviously able to hear what Selina was saying. “I feel that.”

“I guarantee you ain’t seen adrenaline junkie like Cat does it,” said Ivy, too loud to be an aside.

“Shucks, talkin’ me up?” Selina deadpanned. “There’s no way the real thing will live up to it.”

Ivy bit her lip, staring helplessly at Harley. She wanted to see Selina more than anything, but it was selfish to want her, Bridgit, and Fries to go through with whatever scheme they’d…

“Oh my God,” Harley blurted. “She’s gonna have him freeze a strip of the river so you can cross?”

“Hopefully after dark,” Selina confessed. “She’s gonna torch it back to normal once I’m there.”

“Are you _tryin'_ to set off some of the mines?” Ivy asked sarcastically. “That won't draw attention at _all_.”

“Who cares?” Harley asked. “Penguin set some off for funsies, remember? That poor bastard in the boat.”

“Jim didn't investigate that,” Selina agreed. “He didn’t even investigate the Wayne Manor explosion.”

“You’re idiots,” Ivy groaned, “and you’re gonna _die_ —unless you let us help, so listen up.”


	11. The Sparrow

Between the invitations’ arrival and the big day, Zsasz spent the week choosing his weapons as carefully as he chose his wardrobe. Not that he ever deviated from black, which _never_ went out of style. It was more about tailoring and accoutrements.

Weddings were fun, especially ones at which Zsasz got to be a guest. He supposed Oswald might consider him on call, just in case there was trouble. Zsasz could live with that. He wanted to look out for the lucky couple as much as anyone else.

The day before the wedding, Oswald asked Zsasz at breakfast if he’d go intercept their guests.

“Guests?” Zsasz asked, around a mouthful of avocado toast. Ivy’s rooftop garden was thriving.

Oswald huffed, checking his phone. “Ivy tells me they’re here to inspect Olga’s provisions. Let it not be said Jerome has no standards.”

“From what you told me about that brunch meeting thing, uh, yeah,” Zsasz agreed. “So, is it just Jerome I’m escorting around, or—”

“There are four of them,” Edward cut in, peering at Oswald’s phone. “Guards say they’ve been here about ten minutes. Getting tetchy.”

“On it, boss,” Zsasz replied, on his feet in seconds. He loved a surprise as much as a challenge.

Outside, on the steps of former City Hall, Jeri was doing her best to prevent a _serious_ brawl.

Behind Jeri, Jerome had Five by the shoulders, his grasp shifting down to Five’s elbows when Five drew a knife from somewhere in his hoodie or the pockets of his skirt. Zsasz had always been impressed with how unpredictably the kid could move.

In front of Jeri, Selina Kyle was doing her best to glare past Jeri’s shoulder, whip at the ready.

Oswald’s security grunts, all of whom Zsasz knew by name, had fanned out to surround the stand-off. The team looked nervous, like none of them wanted to risk firing the first shot on previously hated parties who, like it or not, had VIP status.

“Cat!” Zsasz said, patting her on the back, aiming to break the tension. “When’d you get into town?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Selina said between clenched teeth. “What the fuck are they doing here?”

“I’m assumin’ your girlfriends didn’t tell you about the big to-do,” Jeri replied, folding her arms.

“Oh,” Zsasz said, deciding that continued nonchalance was best. “They’re here to inspect Olga’s catering for their wedding tomorrow.”

Jerome partially released Five, waving insolently at Selina. “Haven’t seen ya since the diner!”

“Fuck off,” Selina said, re-coiling her whip in a fit of annoyance. “Same goes for you, freak.”

Five scowled, tightening his grip on the knife. “I didn’t start it this time. There are witnesses.”

“ _Shhh_ , princess,” Jerome said in Five’s ear, easing the knife out of his hand. “Truce is a truce.”

Zsasz did some quick mental math on who he could stop first if shit got out of hand. He could tell Jeri was thinking the same thing.

“You can’t be Harley’s and Ivy’s plus-one,” Five said. “Might wanna keep Bruce and Jeremiah company. They’re not on the guest list, either.”

“Man, this is messed up,” Selina said. “Look, Zsasz, I didn’t mean to turn up at the same time they did. All I want is to get in and see Ivy. She needs to know Bridgit and Fries got me across. Her advice worked.” She shrugged at Five. “Yeah. Guess I’m here to see those losers, too.”

“Great!” Jeri said, punchy and impatient. She set one hand on each of her boys’ shoulders, pushing them forward. “Olga’s waitin’.”

Zsasz had never been party to a situation quite like this one, and he’d seen some doozies. It had definitely been worth cutting breakfast short. He waited until Olga came to the atrium to fetch the other three, and then turned to Selina.

“Go ahead, text Ivy or whatever,” Zsasz told her. “Got a place to stay? Why are you here?”

“I’m here because my friends are gonna get in over their heads if the military _does_ attack. So sue me, I was bored!”

“Place to stay,” Zsasz repeated. “If you don’t have one, I’ll ask Oswald about putting you up.”

Selina shook her head. “In this nuthouse? No thanks. I’ll take my chances with Bridgit.”

“Aha, the old flame,” Zsasz jibed, pleased when she rolled her eyes. “How was that reunion?”

Selina smirked, flashing finger-guns at him. “ _That_ is none of your goddamn business.”

“Ah, youth of Gotham,” Zsasz sighed. “Setting positive relationship examples for us old farts.”

“Dude, you’re the same age as Oswald and Ed,” Selina said, breaking into a smug grin at something behind Zsasz on the staircase. “I didn’t die!”

“Duh,” Ivy said, running the whole way down, tripping into Selina’s arms. “Told you so!”

Harley sidled up to Zsasz, watching the reunion with a fond smile. “We directed ’em to where Penguin already tripped off lots of mines.”

“Comin’ back is the new escape,” Zsasz said, shrugging. “First Bruce and Jeremiah, now Cat.”

“Jim’s gonna have a cow when he realizes she’s back,” Harley replied. “He can’t police squat.”

Ever possessed of unfortunate timing, Oswald stormed into the atrium with Winnie on his heels. He stared at Ivy and Selina, who were still engaged in tearful catch-up, and then stared pointedly at Zsasz.

“Why didn’t a certain little bird tell me who the third guest was? _Or_ stick with escort duty?”

“On it, boss,” Zsasz said, saluting Harley before making his way to where he should’ve been.

The kitchen was full of aromatic steam and Olga’s usual crew of assistants. Olga had Jeri, Jerome, and Five back near the walk-in freezer, engaged in conversation. Five looked even more dazzled by the array of readily available sharp implements than Jerome did.

“Olga keeps an inventory,” Zsasz said as he strode up to them, “so don’t go getting any ideas.”

“Thank fuckin’ God somebody said it,” Jeri said in unabashed relief. “I didn’t wanna have to check their pockets when we leave.”

Jerome shrugged and turned every single one of his pockets out. It was a comical process, if only for the sheer number that his garish formal ensemble had with the jacket, waistcoat, and trousers combined.

Five gave Zsasz a withering look and said, “I only have the one, and it’s mine.” He reached behind Jerome, shoved his hand beneath Jerome’s waistband at the small of his back, and came up with an old-fashioned revolver. “Lost track of where he put it.”

“Forget my own head next,” Jerome agreed, patting his waistcoat pocket after Five stuck it there.

“Timing?” Five asked. He gave Jerome the kind of sly, come-hither eyes any bride would kill for.

“Nailed it, precious,” Jerome told him. He tugged Five in for a kiss, which drew a lot of stares.

“Sure, gawk your fill,” Jeri retorted, glaring Olga’s staff back into minding their own business.

Zsasz found himself fascinated at the contrast between these two and their counterparts. Where Bruce and Jeremiah feigned propriety, Jerome and Five didn’t bother. Behind closed doors, were reversals true—Bruce and Jeremiah wilder by far; Jeremiah and Five more tender?

“Earth to bald weirdo,” Olga said derisively. “They give approval. Take PDA back upstairs.”

Zsasz did his best to stifle laughter behind his hand. He hadn’t even realized Olga knew that acronym, let alone how to _use_ it. “Follow me.”

Jeri spent their march back to the atrium whispering some kind of invective to the boys. She’d somehow managed to go full-on mom.

Zsasz might not have hesitated to show them back outside—if there hadn’t been another unplanned, unpleasant gathering in progress. Barbara, Tabitha, and Lee were there, taking on Oswald and Edward in full-on fury. About what, Zsasz wasn’t sure.

From the level above, the confrontation had an audience. Ivy, Harley, Selina, Bruce, and Jeremiah were peering down in baffled concern.

Five shrank against Jerome when Zsasz brought them to a halt, keeping them just inside the mouth of the hall that led back into the atrium.

Oswald was in the midst of screeching, “You’ve double-checked, no, _triple-checked_ your intel?”

“Uh, Ozzie? _Yeah_ ,” Barbara snapped, advancing on Oswald until he backed into Edward. “Tabs?”

“I was there when Jim dropped by to tell her,” Tabitha said, already bored with the situation.

“Fuck,” Jeri hissed, leaning close to Zsasz. “Must be real bad if they hauled ass down here.”

Zsasz shushed her, realizing they’d been been noticed by the parties along the railing. Bruce was impassive, but Jeremiah looked fraught.

“What are we supposed to do?” Edward asked, ever the diplomat. “Tomorrow’s a…bad time.”

“I hate to say this,” Lee replied, “but screw my demands. Screw the wedding. If we need to fight, fine. I’ll raise my army if you’ll raise yours.”

“Worst timing ever,” Oswald agreed, reining in his temper, “and point taken. I’ll match your ranks.”

Intending to get a read on Jerome’s and Five’s reactions, Zsasz did a double-take at what was happening in the shadows behind him.

Five was bright-eyed at the prospect of battle, but Jerome looked so put-out it didn’t even parse.

“Just to catch everybody up,” Lee said, raising her voice, having finally noticed Zsasz and his hangers-on, “the attack’s slated for tomorrow. Jim’s contact warned him, and he warned us.”

“Dammit!” Harley heckled loudly. “Boo! I was lookin’ forward to gettin’ my civic duty on!”

“Just my luck,” Jerome muttered, for Five’s ears only. “Goin’ to the grave a bachelor, _again_.”

“No,” Five whispered, glancing frantically back and forth between Jerome the crowd in the atrium. “Just…no, _no_. Wait.” He pinned Jerome in the corner with a breath-crushing kiss, and then stepped out into the open, predatory.

Edward put himself between Oswald and Five’s fury. “Surely you can see we’re in a bind.”

“Do it today,” Five said, addressing Harley at the last second. “Now, since everyone’s here.”

“Oy gevalt,” Jeri whispered. “There goes keepin’ estranged family away from the occasion.”

Jerome shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped into full view of the peanut gallery above.

“Watch those geniuses up there have somethin’ to say at the part about, how’s it go—” he twisted his lips in a bitter smile “—if anyone can think of any reason why blah blah _blah_ shouldn’t be wed—”

“Since we’re all goners, and since I love weddings,” Zsasz said, grinning at Jerome as he drew his guns and pointed them at the potentially offending parties, “nobody, and I mean _nobody_ , is gonna object.”


	12. The Tooth

Jerome stood motionless for several seconds, content to watch Bruce and Jeremiah react to being in Zsasz’s crosshairs. When Five stepped back from his confrontation with Edward, Jerome slid his arms around Five from behind, pulling him close.

“You did good, precious,” he murmured in Five’s ear, and then nuzzled there to make him laugh.

“Wait,” Five said at length, watching as Ivy and Harley started down the spiral staircase and everyone else started to mingle in faint confusion. “I’m wrong. Not everyone is here.”

“Oh,” Jerome said, pausing between the kisses he was still pressing against Five’s neck. “Avi?”

Five nodded, turning to face Jerome. He wound his arms around Jerome’s neck and kissed him.

“They were working on prep for tomorrow, with a couple of the servers. We need to get them.”

“Them as in Avi, not them as in Avi and the servers,” Jerome mumbled. “Just makin’ sure?”

“Yeah,” Five said, resting his cheek against Jerome’s jaw. “Maybe we should tell Jeri to—”

“Nah, I got some fires to put out here, thanks to your reckless stunt,” Jeri cut in. “Oswald wants to know what you mean by _now_. Like, right this instant now, or in a couple hours?”

“Couple hours,” Five said, sounding relieved. “Tell Harley and Ivy, too. They can improvise.”

“The only improv we’re doin’ before the ceremony is gettin’ your butt away from the groom,” Ivy said, snagging Five’s hood so she could pull him away from Jerome. “Bad luck. Also, he’s dressed fancier than you. Your skirt’s fine, but we’ve gotta work on the rest.”

Five gave Jerome a hasty, apologetic wave as Ivy led him away. “See you at the altar, I guess?”

“Whatever around here’s gonna pass for one,” Jerome muttered, and then held his hand out to Jeri. “Gimme the keys. I’m gonna fetch Avi.”

Jeri reluctantly handed over the Mustang’s fob. “I see why you love it. Drivin’ us over here was the most fun I’ve had at the wheel in years.”

Jerome slipped out before anyone could attempt to follow him, although Penguin’s security out front definitely asked him where the hell he thought he was going. He was detained until one of them texted Zsasz, who was still inside, to verify that it was fine to let him go.

Avi was waiting in the alley behind Celestial Garden when Jerome screeched to a stop next to the dumpsters. They got in the passenger side, giving him a dubious look when he gestured at the seat belt.

“Jeri texted to say you were en route,” Avi said, peevishly buckling up. “Wild change of plans?”

“Between you and me, in any other circumstances,” Jerome said, “I couldn’t care less whether you wear it or not. Today, though, it’s my job to get you there in one piece so Five and Jeri don’t poison my soup tonight. That’s the starter—somethin’ called _ukha_.”

“Never had Russian food except borscht,” Avi yawned. “Can we talk? Since you and Five are gonna do this thing a day early, this is my best shot.”

Jerome felt a nervous clench in the pit of his stomach. “Uh, sure? What did you have in mind?”

“I know you and Five have a lot of the same problems,” Avi said, “but I don’t want you to mistake that for something real. I don’t want _Five_ to mistake that for something real, you feel me?”

Hearing the concern stated so frankly, Jerome was overcome with relief. “We talked about that.”

Avi glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “How to cope with shared trauma?”

“No joke,” Jerome said, taking the next turn just sharp enough to express his irritation. “We made sure…” He sighed wearily. “We’re not in love _only_ because it’s easier to be miserable together. That’s how Five put it.”

Looking slightly impressed, Avi considered the statement for a while. “And how do you put it?”

“It’s feeling everything at once,” Jerome replied. “Can’t pick it apart. We get to share that, too.”

Avi nodded, staring out the window. “Break Five’s heart, and you’re one dead motherfucker.”

“Duh,” Jerome said, screeching to a halt behind City Hall. He’d nearly clipped the bumper of one of Penguin’s transport vehicles. “He’d kill me before you or Jeri got the chance.”

Laughing, Avi got out of the car and came around to open Jerome’s door for him. “True, that!”

Several of Oswald’s flunkies were on them in no time at all, guns drawn, to escort them inside.

While Avi made a beeline for Jeri’s side, Jerome responded to Harley’s urgent beckoning from across the atrium. The make-up she’d applied put Jerome’s long-ago job on Bruce to shame.

“You woulda fit right in at Haly’s,” Jerome told her. “What’s the status, anyhow? Start time?”

Harley checked her watch, a glittery rose gold thing likely stolen just after the city’s collapse.

“From what J told me, I coulda turned that place around. Harley’s instead of Haley’s. Nice ring to it,” she said blithely, tapping the quartz face. “Hour and fifteen minutes. Penguin’s relegated us to the rooftop garden, anybody who wants to attend. Says at this rate it’s not mandatory, what with all the war chiefs needin’ to strategize.”

“Guess we’ll see who we get,” Jerome said, uncomfortably adjusting his collar. “I’d kill for a pair of gloves. Who’s wearin’ some?”

“Bad idea,” Harley warned. “One, we play by house rules. Two, this ain’t _Game of Thrones_.”

“Never had time for that,” Jerome sighed, “but the Grayson brats wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“We’re gonna binge it sometime, then,” Harley said excitedly. “I could never convince J.”

“Five might be into that,” Jerome said, casting about the atrium. It had emptied swiftly.

Harley punched Jerome in the shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine, right? No matter what?”

Jerome rubbed the spot absently, shocked at the force she’d put behind it. “Gonna try.”

“Chin up,” Harley urged, grabbing his wrist, starting to lead him toward the stairs. “I’ve decided you’re more fun than J, which is a fuckin’ miracle given the shit-talk about you I bought into at first. Don’t blow it.”

From the level above, there was a shimmering green flash of sequins that resolved itself into Ivy.

“Yo, nerds!” she shouted at them. “We need a priest up here! Runnin’ ahead of schedule!”

“That’s our cue,” Harley said, hauling Jerome up the stairs. “Don’t go all runaway groom.”

“Why the hell d’you think I’d do that,” Jerome grumbled, but his heart _was_ racing.

The scene waiting for them on the roof was nothing like Jerome would’ve expected. There was no crowd like there would’ve been at Celestial Garden, no pageantry before his adoring public like there’d been the night he and Five first arrived.

Instead, there was sunlight glinting off Ivy’s greenery. There was also a cool, stiff breeze that buffeted the hair and clothing of those who waited. 

Off to one side stood Jeri, Avi, and Lee, engaged in conversation. Edward, who’d been having a chat with Zsasz, took something wrapped in a black bandanna from Zsasz and immediately handed it over to Jeri. 

Off to the other, Tabitha and Selina were similarly occupied, but their posture was far more tense. As for who stood not too far beyond them—Jerome couldn’t process Selina’s presence, let alone _this_. 

Bruce looked somber, with a mix of guilt and penitence. Beside him, Jeremiah was unreadable.

Jerome looked away from them almost instantly, focusing on Harley again. “Where’s Five?”

Harley just pointed back in the direction they’d come, and then went to position herself between the two gaggles of onlookers. She gave Jerome an impatient look, inclining her head.

Where the door emerged onto the roof, Five stepped from just around the corner. Someone had pinned his hair into a more complicated arrangement than he’d ever managed on himself—more complicated than any arrangement Jerome had ever managed on him.

Jerome only recognized the exotic, threatening-looking purple flowers in Five’s hair as passionfruit blossoms because he’d seen some insipid gardening show on cultivating tropical plants when he was younger. The random trivia his mind retained never made sense.

“I told Harley it was overkill,” Five hissed under his breath as he approached Jerome, indignantly flushed beneath the bright palette of cosmetics that had joined his metallic eyeshadow, sharp eyeliner, and subtle mascara. He plucked at the elegantly-draped sleeveless black silk top they’d paired with his skirt. “This is the only part I _like_.”

Brushing his thumb beneath Five’s lower lip—tinted the same shade as the blossoms, bruise-dark and vibrant all at once—Jerome leaned in and kissed the corner of Five’s mouth.

“I disagree, princess,” he whispered, winking as he pulled back. “You’ve never looked prettier.”

Five broke into a reluctant half-smile, punching Jerome’s arm in the same spot Harley had.

“You never believe _me_ when I tell you you’re handsome, so why should I believe _you_?”

“Jeez, would you dumbasses just get up here,” Harley groaned, stamping her feet impatiently.

“Hustle!” Ivy said, marching over to where Jerome and Five stood, grabbing each of them by the upper arm. She didn’t stop dragging them until she’d positioned them in front of Harley. “We got food to eat and shit to drink once this is over with. _Way_ too much of it.”

“Oswald sends his apologies,” Edward said effusively. “He and Barbara needed to get started on— _ow_!”

“Ed, shut up,” Selina said, recoiling her whip off the end of the swift strike she’d dealt his arm.

Lee was smirking in a way Jerome had imagined many times through the shared wall of their Arkham cells. Refreshing, to share amusement at Edward’s misery without a barrier.

Tabitha gave Jerome a look he couldn’t quite interpret, but the quirk of her lips was almost fond.

Five set his hand against Jerome’s cheek, turning Jerome’s head back toward himself. “Hey.”

“Hiya, precious,” Jerome said, and then glanced sidelong at Harley. “Just get to the punch line.”

“Whew, for a minute I thought you were gonna make me do the whole song and dance,” Harley said, relieved. “D’you weirdos take each other to be, I dunno, partners in everything from killin’ jackasses like Strange to the—uh, let’s call it boring domestic crap?”

The huff of dramatic exasperation from behind Jerome was instantly recognizable as Jeremiah’s.

“Yes,” Five said, with that earnest, unaffected frankness Jerome had appreciated from day one.

“Sure do,” Jerome agreed, pressing his finger to the tip of Five’s nose. “I like the boring stuff.”

Five swatted Jerome’s hand away, glancing at Harley. “What I was saying earlier, d’you see—”

“Yup, gross,” Harley said, dusting her hands off in their faces. “Just kiss so we can go eat.”

Before Jerome could react with suitable enthusiasm, Five did a bang-up job for both of them. 

Lingering behind while the others filed inside wasn’t the worst decision they could’ve made. By the time they reached the dining room, everyone except Edward, Lee, Tabitha, and Zsasz were clustered outside it.

Olga standing there with what looked like several hefty shopping bags repurposed for take-out.

“Battle planning,” Olga sniffed, handing the several heavy bags off to Jerome and Jeri. “They would only permit ladies, Edward, and Zsasz inside.”

“That’s, uh,” Jerome said, saluting her as best he could with both hands occupied, “ _spasiba_.”

“Who the hell taught you that?” Jeri asked Jerome, and then nodded at Olga. “Thanks.”

Five was too busy drowning in a hug from Avi to participate in the parting exchange.

Even after Harley, Ivy, and Selina had noisily left their room service preferences with Olga and dispersed, they still weren’t free to go. Jerome wasn’t pleased with the malingerers, and at least one of the malingerers didn’t look pleased, either.

Bruce didn’t attempt to shake Jerome’s or Five’s hand, but his expression was sincere. 

“Congratulations,” he said with admirably cordial restraint. “We didn’t… _this_ didn’t turn out how any of us had planned, and maybe that’s for the best. Jim will have to accept the circumstances.”

“What, that we’re still alive?” Five challenged, his fingers sliding into the pocket of his skirt.

Jerome caught Five’s wrist, trapping his knife-wielding hand there—turning it into an affectionate, if slightly scandalous gesture. 

“Whatever works, Brucie. I realize it takes a lot of mental gymnastics for you to sleep at night.”

Jeremiah was as expressionless as he’d been when Jerome glanced at him during the ceremony.

“Nothin’ to say, huh?” Jerome asked, making sure Five had released the weapon. “Just…nada?”

“You’ve made more of yourself than I expected,” Jeremiah said cryptically, and walked away.

Bruce looked embarrassed and lost. He gave Five an apologetic nod and followed Jeremiah.

“I’m drivin’ you kids home,” Jeri sighed. “You first,” she said to Avi. “Take the night off.”

Once she made sure Avi was safely inside the abandoned apartment building she shared with a handful of her co-workers, Jeri took Jerome and Five back to Celestial garden. She didn’t say a word for the rest of the short drive.

“Get this stuff upstairs before I eat it for ya,” Jeri said gruffly, and shooed them off. “Congrats.”

Jerome had to admit that candlelit picnic dinner in their room sure beat the noisier options.

Five ate faster than usual, and he didn’t seem to have any interest in dessert. He got to his feet, hauling Jerome along with him, and then promptly flopped on the bed. Five’s seduction techniques were often jarring, and Jerome adored him for it.

“Take your clothes off,” Five said, roughly yanking Jerome down by his tie. “Right now.”

Jerome couldn’t shed his shoes and his jacket fast enough. Distracting, having to watch Five unlace and kick out of his boots. How had he not realized Five’s stockings weren’t tights, but thigh-highs held up by a garter belt that had slipped too low on his otherwise _bare_ hips?

“Want you so much, precious,” Jerome rasped in Five’s ear, rubbing between Five’s legs until Five shivered and strained into his touch. “Fill me up.”

“Really?” Five gasped, falling back against the pillows, gathering his skirt up higher around his hips. He wound his fingers in the sheets as he watched Jerome undress. “Do…do you mean…?”

Jerome squeezed what was left of the travel lotion into his palm. He leaned in and kissed Five—slicking Five’s cock, teasing until Five yanked Jerome forward to straddle him. Even if Jerome didn’t succeed, making an attempt was worth the spark in Five’s eyes.

“Don’t worry about, _ah_ , takin’ it slow,” Jerome winced, hips jerking when Five worked two fingers inside him and pressed as deep as he could.

“Here,” Five said, squirming restlessly. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whimpered, splaying his hands on Jerome’s shoulder blades as Jerome sank flush with his lap.

Jerome rocked in place for only a few minutes, finding the slight stretch and burn exquisite, before his breath stuttered. He closed his eyes, shifting forward to press against as much of Five’s skin as he could, coming with a groan.

Five sobbed and dug his fingernails into Jerome’s back, finally too overwhelmed to hold off.

Still breathless, Jerome stroked Five’s hair and kissed his jaw. “You’re so pretty, baby.”

Five was trembling, clearly trying his best not to break down, but his eyes were already wet.

“I don’t understand why you always say that,” he gasped, “don’t understand _how_ …”

Jerome stroked Five’s cheek, tilting Five’s head until he could kiss Five slow and soothing.

“I know you don’t believe it’s true because of what everyone told you—what was it, that your face was never gonna be your own? That the only thing you had goin’ for you was lookin’ like someone else?” Jerome kissed him again, brushing the tears from Five’s cheeks. “What I heard wasn’t too different. We’re gonna keep hearin’ it. Can’t change that, sweet pea. Wish I could.”

Five was quiet for a few seconds, flexing his cramped fingers against Jerome’s sweat-damp back.

“I understand,” he admitted quietly. “As long as we don’t hear it from each other, we’ll be…”

“We might not be just peachy,” Jerome replied, holding him close, “but I think we’ll be okay.”

Wincing at the mess, Five shifted lower in the pillows, tugging Jerome down to lie beside him.

“If we survive tomorrow,” he whispered resolutely, “I’m gonna hold you to that. Pinkie swear.”

Jerome hooked his left little finger around Five’s right, and then drew it up to his lips for a kiss.

Five kissed the tip of Jerome’s nose and wriggled out of his clothes. He stared at the stains they’d left on the silk shirt he’d borrowed.

“Oops,” he said in adorably horrified concern. “I don’t think Ivy’s gonna want this back.”

“We’ll steal her another one,” Jerome said, snatching it from Five, tossing it on the floor.

Five seemed more relaxed now that they were both naked. One of the blooms fell from his hair.

“Jeri did that Jewish thing, smashing a glass,” he said. “While we were kissing. I heard it.”

“Can’t blame her,” Jerome said. “Smashing stuff is fun. Did I tell you about the atrocity I found that one time at Brucie’s place?”

“No?” Five said, snuggling close to Jerome like he did when he wanted to hear more of a story.

“I don’t understand rich folks’ decorating,” Jerome went on. “Clothes, sometimes, but that rummage-sale crap they put on the mantel? Yikes.”

“What was it?” Five asked, digging his fingers between Jerome’s ribs, threatening to tickle him.

“Big, ugly glass owl,” Jerome said. “Shattered it right on the fireplace. Brucie seemed hurt.”

Five had gone incredibly still. “Was it angular? Did you notice what the firelight did to it?”

“Angular, yeah, I remember that,” Jerome said. “Weird refraction of the flames, too. Why?”

Five grinned. “Those statues project maps. They were priceless to the Court. Serves them right.”

“If we ever find another one,” Jerome said, rolling him into the pillows, “we’ll know what to do.”


	13. The Talon

Five drifted for a while, aware that his make-up had gone tacky. When he felt alert again, he lifted his head to study Jerome as he dozed. He mussed Jerome’s product-stiff hair, enjoying just how much of his lipstick was smeared on Jerome’s face and neck.

This wasn’t something Five had believed he’d ever live to do, much less _wish_ to do. His impression of marriage had been that it only worked in Shakespeare. Even then, other books he’d read in the lab, while he was with the Court, and at Wayne Manor suggested it wasn’t always perfect.

Snagging a tissue off the nightstand, Five wiped as much of the cosmetic disaster off Jerome’s skin as he could. He didn’t suppose it made a difference what they looked like come morning, but they were both just vain enough to face war with their dignity intact.

Jerome opened his eyes a sliver, enjoying the focused attention. “Hiya, gorgeous,” he yawned.

Five dropped the tissues on the floor. “Handsome,” he murmured. “It’s not even ten o’clock.”

“Is that an observation or a hint?” Jerome asked, stretching leisurely against Five. “C’mere.”

“It’s whatever you want,” Five said, pressing a kiss against Jerome’s neck. He bit hard enough to make Jerome grunt.

“If tomorrow’s when we…y’know, shuffle off this mortal coil,” Jerome sighed, dreamily content, “then we better make tonight count. Make a battle plan of our own.” He pressed fully against Five, shivering as Five trailed his fingers down Jerome’s spine. “Who do you wanna kill, precious?”

Five flushed at the feel of Jerome’s heated skin, grabbing the back of Jerome’s thigh. “Gordon.”

Jerome looked thoughtful, and then ducked his head to suck a bruise right over Five’s clavicle.

“Somethin’ tells me we’re all on the same side out here whether we like it or not,” Jerome mumbled between bites, redoubling his efforts when Five clawed from Jerome’s thigh up to his ass. “Not that I think that should stop us, s’just…” He stifled a groan. “Keep that up.”

Five dug into Jerome’s skin more forcefully this time, with both hands, hating how blunt his fingernails were. He wondered if Jerome would dislike what he was about to say, but he needed to get it off his chest.

“We shouldn’t kill Bruce and Jeremiah,” Five said, scraping over Jerome’s lower back, satisfied at the desperate sound he made, “but I still _want_ to.”

Jerome was aroused enough that distraction would be an issue. “Well, how ’bout…” He wrapped his arms around Five’s neck, breath blissfully shaky as Five delivered scratch after savage scratch to his back. “If it goes downhill fast, we might as well, _uh_ …start finishin’ folks off.”

Five closed his eyes, resting his head against Jerome’s shoulder. His hands were getting tired, and he was too turned on to concentrate. 

“Sounds like a plan,” he gasped when Jerome licked his earlobe, trapping Jerome with his legs tight around Jerome’s hips.

“Baby boy,” Jerome rasped against Five’s jaw, his words reverent against Five’s skin. “Baby girl, my pretty baby. I wanna be good for you.”

“You _are_ ,” Five moaned, shocked at how abruptly the next catch of Jerome’s teeth made him shudder. “Pin me down like— _that_ , yeah. Fuck!”

Jerome let his weight rest heavy against Five, each roll of his hips driving them nearer to release.

“Always used to think— _oh_ , princess,” he groaned. “Hold that thought, _mmm_ , yeah, m’gonna…”

Five didn’t try to muffle how desperately he was repeating Jerome’s name, his throat raw with it.

“Thought?” he managed, trembling with aftershocks, after they’d spent long seconds just whining and panting into each other’s mouths.

“Thought nothing mattered anymore,” Jerome said, his voice tellingly rough. “Last time I died.”

Five ran his fingers through Jerome’s damp hair over and over again. “I can understand that.”

“Imagine the inconvenience,” said Jerome, kissing Five’s neck. “You made a believer of me.”

“But I don’t really believe in anything,” Five insisted. “I _didn’t_ until I met you, either.”

“You made _me_ matter,” Jerome said. “I never mattered to anyone in my life.”

Five squeezed Jerome so tightly that they both laughed, wheezing for breath.

“You matter to me. Jeri, too. Lots of other people. You made me _want_ to matter.”

“Have you always been such a sap?” Jerome asked with mock sternness, winking at him.

“Yeah,” Five said, using the sheet to clean them off this time. He kicked it to the foot of the bed, hauling the duvet over them. “Even though they tried to make me...not feel _anything_ , they couldn’t erase my emotions. Taking my memory after one of the experiments just made it worse.”

“Sweet pea, we’ve been over this,” Jerome said, stroking Five’s hair. “I like that you feel that kinda stuff before I do. It keeps me honest.”

“I like how sensitive you are,” Five murmured, kissing the spot on Jerome’s neck that always made him squirm. “That you trust me with this.”

Jerome was quiet for a while. He went on playing with Five’s hair until Five could scarcely keep his eyes open.

“You’re the only thing I ever should’ve loved,” he said, brushing Five’s cheek.

Five shivered, heavy-lidded, pressing his mouth against Jerome’s shoulder.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever loved. I still do. Jerome, I’ll...I _will_ , even if...”

“There’s always another life,” Jerome murmured, sounding as close to passing out as Five. “I’d find you again.”

“Promise me it’ll be like that,” Five whispered, holding him tight. “Please swear.”

Jerome drew Five’s hand up to his mouth, so languidly he already seemed asleep.

The last thing Five felt was Jerome’s warm lips against the side of his little finger.

Explosions weren’t an alien concept to Five, or even something he hadn’t weathered. He and Jerome had experienced pyrotechnics at a distance while they were staying in the Wayne penthouse, and had occasionally awakened to them in the early hours of dawn.

Whatever was happening this time, it was so close and on such a massive scale that Jeri’s building shook. Debris hit the bedroom window.

Five was on his feet before Jerome could even mumble his dismay. He raced to the window, staring at the smoldering section of transit bridge less than a block away. If the blast had hit the tracks passing directly over them, they would’ve been buried in rubble.

“What the hell’s that?” Jerome asked, his eyes widening as another bridge section crumbled.

“They’re bombing us,” Five said, folding his arms across his chest as he stalked back to bed.

“Nobody in the city can boast a honeymoon like ours,” Jerome said, putting an arm around Five, trying to cheer him. He continued to stare out the window as another incendiary hit further off. “Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

“Maybe if there was another wedding yesterday,” Five said, staring at the flames. “I doubt it.”

“Where were you the night the bridges fell?” Jerome asked in fascination. “I was dead, so…”

“On my way to work,” Five said. “Feverish that day. I got to the Foxglove as fast as I could.”

“That sucks,” Jerome said. “How much you wanna bet Bruce and my bro had front-row seats?”

“Everyone’s getting to see something,” Five said absently, resting his head on Jerome’s shoulder.

Jeri’s timing was terrible. She started banging on the bedroom door just as Jerome kissed him.

“Fairytale’s over!” Jeri shouted, delivering a few more blows. “Get dressed, and get out here!”

“Guess we know who our division commander is,” Jerome said snidely, wincing as he got up.

“You’re still really stiff,” Five said in concern, yanking on a pair of socks and some jeans.

Jerome shrugged, sluggishly buttoning the first collared shirt he could find. “Can’t treat it.”

“When this is all over, I’m going to ask Lee,” Five said, voice muffled as he pulled on a t-shirt.

“Goin’ butch today, huh?” Jerome asked, watching Five shrug into the leather jacket that had once belonged to Harley. “Pragmatic.”

Five shoved his feet into his oxblood Docs, pulled his hair back, and helped Jerome finish dressing. He insisted on the dark plaid waistcoat and trousers Five liked best, but he’d chosen a violet shirt instead of the yellow one.

When they emerged into the hall ten minutes later, Jeri was standing there looking cross.

“Visitors,” she said gruffly, leading them to the kitchen. “Boy, have they got a job for ya.”

Five froze in the doorway as Jeri went to the counter to check on her percolating coffee. He took hold of Jerome’s wrist, his grip so tight that he was probably cutting off Jerome’s circulation. Unbelievable, what they had to face.

Jim sat on one side of Jeri’s tiny table. Across from him, Bruce and Jeremiah sat on the other.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Five demanded, directing the question at all three of them.

“You tell ’em, Miss Thing,” Jeri cheered, busy filling six mugs. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“Spot of early morning breaking and entering?” Jerome asked in a faux-British accent, directing the question at Bruce. “Didn’t even knock?”

“That’s on me,” Jim admitted, accepting the mug Jeri handed him with a nod. “Your hostess would never have voluntarily let us in.”

Five marched over to the table, grabbed the remaining empty chair, and dragged it to one side. He made Jerome sit down, and then took the next two mugs from Jeri. They’d probably been intended for Bruce and Jeremiah.

“You should at least hear him out,” Jeremiah said unexpectedly, appealing directly to Jerome.

“It took a lot to convince us,” said Bruce, rubbing his temples, “but if it works, everyone wins.”

“Cut the cryptic shit,” Jeri said, finally slamming a pair of mugs in front of Bruce and Jeremiah. “If you don’t tell my boys why you’re here, I’ll do it. You won’t like my spin on the proposal, either. I can see through your smoke and mirrors.”

Jim sighed, staring resentfully into his mug. Hilarious, what when cops supposedly loved coffee.

“Delta Force made those air strikes as a first-wave attack,” he said. “Starving us out didn’t work over the past few months, so they’re trying to weaken us. Within a few hours, troops will cross the river to finish the city off.”

“How much of this did you know yesterday?” Five asked, leveling an accusation. “Did Oswald contact you during his own meeting? It was right after the wedding. Why didn’t you tell all of us what was happening?”

“We knew about the invasion plans, but not the bombs,” Jim replied flatly. “My mistake for not anticipating the exact element of surprise. And yes, Penguin and Nygma contacted me last night. They’re already organized. Lee and the Sirens are even onboard.”

Five set a hand on Jerome’s shoulder when Jeremiah’s attempt at a stare-down became obvious.

“You have all of their militias, then,” he pointed out. “ _And_ the gangs that swear allegiance to Oswald and Lee. Why do you need us?”

Jeremiah exchanged grave glances with Bruce. “The Captain needs us for a suicide mission.”

Jeri threw back half her own mug, making an exasperated noise. “You said yes to this _why_?”

“Because we owe the city,” Bruce said, showing a hint of the belligerent spark Five knew lay just beneath his calm calm carriage.

“It’s the debt we incurred when we cut and ran,” Jeremiah said. “Compounded on mine, even.”

Five wasn’t shocked when Jerome started to laugh. Best to just let it happen, really, and enjoy the facial expressions of everyone else in the room. Jim looked the most jaded and expressionless, which was _not_ where Five would’ve expected non-reaction.

“Hoo boy, lemme get this straight,” Jerome said at length, wiping his eyes. “You thought letting that Ra’s What’s-his-face use your duplicitous tech to cut the city off from the mainland was a great idea, but one kiss from this one—” he made finger guns at Bruce “—and you decided you made a _mistake_? How’s that for the love of a good man. _Heh_ , it’s just…too late. Funny.”

“Yes,” Jeremiah retorted, gritting his teeth as he made the allowance. “Would you like to point out anything else equally obvious?”

“We owe the city,” Bruce repeated before Jerome could open his mouth again. “We owe _you_.”

Five couldn’t take another sip of his coffee. His stomach had gone sour at the thought.

“Fine, so we all owe each other,” he said, taking his mug to the sink. “Doesn’t that cancel everything out? Why do you need us?”

“Because Bruce and I can’t plant the last of my devices alone,” replied Jeremiah, coldly.

Five dropped the mug with a splash, turning to stare. “We’re going to bomb _them_?”

“We’re going to bomb an empty building,” Bruce said unhappily. “It’ll slow them down, give our forces here time to…” He shrugged.

Whether it was a lucky guess or his uncanny ability to read his brother after years of separation, Jerome already seemed to know what was what. He chuckled into his mug, unnerving everyone except Jeri and Five this time.

“Remember your tarot, brother?” he said over the rim, eyes narrowed. “Hanged Man to the Tower. Or is that chess? I always mix ’em up.”

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” Bruce said, his slight movement indicative of taking Jeremiah’s hand beneath the table, “but it was my idea.”

For the first time in the entirety of the conversation, Five felt lost. He knew that Jerome had deduced the proposition, but none of it was obvious.

Jeri took Five aside while the others sniped at each other, fixing his hastily pulled-back hair.

“Gordon wants you to help bring down Wayne Tower. He’s already convinced the other two.”

Five turned his head in fury, glaring at Bruce and Jeremiah. “What’s in it for us?” he snarled.

“Get it done,” Jim said bitterly, glancing from Jerome to Five, “and I’ll pardon all four of you.”

Jerome stood up, tugging Five from Jeri’s arms into his own. “Hey, this could work.”

Five chewed his lip, staring down at their feet. “Even if it fails, that’s…true,” he replied, realizing he might get his wish on the murder front.

“We’ve gotta cover those idiots while they plant the bomb,” Jerome explained. “Piece of cake. We can take as many weapons as we want.”

Tapping the scuffed toe of his boot against the toe of Jerome’s equally scuffed shoes, he nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered, pretending to kiss Jerome’s ear. “Can we make it a date like Strange?”

Jerome laughed, but it was more of a catch in his throat. “If it all goes to hell, sure. Why not.”

Jeri was busy chewing Jim out in the background. It was satisfying even if Five was only catching every other word. Even Bruce and Jeremiah had retreated into their own urgent, low-voiced conversation. They sounded mad at Jim, too.

“We’re in,” Five announced, turning toward the table. “Brief us before we change our minds.”


	14. The Martyrs

Jeremiah’s thoughts had been in tumult since the wedding. Seeing Jerome here, slurping coffee in Jeri’s kitchen while Five standoffishly guarded him, did nothing to ease it. If anything, he felt more conflicted.

While Jim and Bruce took point on explaining the plan to Five, Jeremiah got up and asked Jeri where the bathroom was. She pointed him back the hall, but didn’t escort him. That seemed unusual on her part.

On finishing, Jeremiah opened the door to see Jerome lounging against the wall, waiting for him.

“Would it have killed you to say congrats after we got hitched? Y’know, like a normal person?”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, stepping past Jerome’s partial blockade of the hall. “Congratulations.”

Jerome pushed off the wall, halting Jeremiah’s progress with a shoulder-bump. “For realsies?”

“You asked nicely,” Jeremiah said with impatient sarcasm. “Nicely for _you_ , anyway.”

“Listen, before we head back out to face the music,” Jerome said, “explain this to me?”

“The plan?” Jeremiah asked. “You and Five get to be muscle on a job that might kill us.”

Jerome shrugged, spreading his arms wide. “C’est la vie. It’s the most we fools can hope for.”

“You’re all right with that?” Jeremiah scoffed. “Newly married man with a third lease on life?”

“Five and I didn’t even expect to escape Strange,” Jerome said. “Believe me, this is movin’ up in the world. At least we’re gonna die together.”

As Jerome left, Jeremiah had the impulse to ask what he meant. At least he and Five were going to die together, or at least the two of _them_ were going to die together? Both were things Jerome might want, but for different reasons.

When Jeremiah walked back into the kitchen, Jerome was already fussing over Five with more kisses and inanities, and Five was fussing back. Jim and Bruce were on their feet, getting the tail end of what sounded like a thorough chewing-out from Jeri.

“…don’t care how capable you think they are,” she went on, glancing furtively over her shoulder at the clinging couple. “Jerome’s still sluggish, not quite back to normal. Five ain’t too emotionally stable—I’m guessin’ he never was?”

Bruce nodded. “When we were younger, it was a problem. He seems…better, if I’m honest?”

“Look me in the eye and say that once you’ve seen him have a meltdown over tea,” Jeri replied.

Jeremiah wanted to say he could relate, but changed his mind mid-thought. “Are they ready?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim sighed, checking his watch. “We need to get back to the precinct.”

Jeri ushered them all out of the apartment, accompanying them down the stairs and to the back entrance of the club. She gave Jerome an awkward shoulder squeeze, but Five got the kind of hug that Jeremiah associated with parents who might never see their kids again.

“Keep him safe, okay?” Jeri said, patting Five’s cheeks. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for _you_.”

While Jim opened the back of the GCPD van for them, Bruce stared at something tarp-covered inside Jeri’s padlocked chain-link storage bay next to the dumpsters. Jeremiah recognized the vehicle’s shape almost instantly, not sure why they hadn’t taken notice on arrival.

“Is that my car?” Bruce asked Jeri while Five helped Jerome climb into the back of Jim’s van.

“Sure is,” Jeri said, folding her arms across her chest, staring at the ground. “Keepin’ it safe.”

“Thanks,” Bruce replied, claiming one of the van’s free-standing middle seats. “I’ll pay you.”

Jeremiah got in after him, settling into the other middle seat before slamming the van door.

“Finders, keepers,” Jerome warned as Jim finally started the engine. “Get yourself a new one.”

“That’s not how this works,” Jeremiah said, irritably glancing over his shoulder into the back. “You’ll be lucky if Bruce doesn’t file a report.”

“To whom?” Five asked loftily, staring out the window at bleak, ruined streets. “Jim’s busy.”

“You’re getting a clean slate,” Jim said, accelerating pointedly. “Don’t throw away your shot.” 

“Avi used to put that song on repeat in the break room,” Five muttered to no one in particular. 

Given that Jim had fetched Jeremiah and Bruce from Oswald’s stronghold just that morning, this was their first time back at the precinct since the night they’d left it to pursue Jerome and Five. Jeremiah returned the hostile stares they got as Jim, now joined by Harvey Bullock, led them back to the office where he’d briefly been kept in protective custody. That felt like lifetimes ago.

“Christ,” Harvey muttered, shuffling ahead to open the office door. “World’s upside-down.”

“Great to see ya,” Jerome said, offering his hand. When Harvey didn’t take it, he shrugged. “Service has gone downhill around here.”

“How did you get it?” Five asked, indicating the generator core on the table. “I thought Ra’s al Ghul’s team detonated the last of them.”

“They did, but that was the failsafe set,” Jeremiah said. “The primary set, the ones I was daring them to find? Those were defused.” He glanced at Harvey. “Detective Bullock kept one as a little…souvenir. It was powering the entire Green Zone up until now.”

“I cannot reiterate enough,” Harvey said to Jim, jabbing his finger accusingly at Jeremiah, “how much I hate that guy.” He glared at Bruce, and then jabbed his finger at Jerome. “ _And_ that one.”

“Whether you like them or not is irrelevant,” Bruce countered. “We’re here to cooperate.”

“I’m not,” Five said candidly. “I’m here to spend my honeymoon blowing up a building.”

“What princess said,” Jerome chimed in. “So…about all this firepower you’re givin’ us?”

Jeremiah couldn’t get his head around Jerome’s pet-names for Five. From that morning alone, there were at least three he could count: _princess_ , _sweet pea_ , and _precious_. Five never seemed to call Jerome anything except his name, but there was a reverence to the way he inflected it.

Jim handed Five a belt, which held a pair of semi-automatic pistols and some throwing knives. Next, he gave Jerome a double-barreled, sawed-off shotgun and an assortment of knives to choose from. Watching from the corner, Harvey looked positively livid.

“Bruce and Jeremiah are also armed, but one of them will be carrying the device at all times,” Jim said, handing them an empty black duffel bag. “Preferably Jeremiah, since he built the thing.”

“Yes, but it’s been tampered with,” Jeremiah reminded him, glancing at Harvey with mocking spite. If their chances of killing each other on the way or dying in the blast were equally as likely, he might as well enjoy himself. “Pulled from the generator without any finesse. You’re lucky I’ll be able to restore just enough functionality to get the job done.”

“I want you gone as soon as it’s been retrofitted,” Jim said, indicating that Harvey should follow him. “If you succeed, the event will announce itself.”

“You don’t want us to get in contact if we fail?” Bruce asked, breaking his ominous silence.

Neither Jim, nor Harvey answered his question, letting the office door slam behind them.

Startled by a second jarring sound swift on the heels of the first, Jeremiah nervously turned around. Jerome and Five had set all of their weapons on a desk in the far corner of the room before commandeering the swivel-chair. Jerome was spinning in it, and Five was in his lap.

“At least they’ll stay out of trouble,” Bruce said, exasperated, drawing Jeremiah’s attention from the spectacle. “Let’s fix this.”

Ten minutes later, with the bomb ready to go, the real challenge was pulling the other two apart.

While Jerome and Five got their weapons situated, Jeremiah placed the device in the duffel bag and beckoned for Bruce to follow him into the hall. He backed Bruce up against the cinderblock wall.

“Not to sound maudlin,” Jeremiah said, relieved when Bruce pulled him close, “but if this is our—”

Bruce kissed him like he had on the night that had led them to this moment. “You don’t. It isn’t.”

“Don’t listen to him, bro,” Jerome said, striding out of the office with the shotgun over his right arm and Five on his left. “It’s our last everything.”

Jim didn’t stop what he was doing to see them off, so Bruce took initiative. He led them out the side entrance, turning immediately down the alley.

The military’s strikes had grown so intermittent as to seem finished, although explosions dotted the skyline every so often as they walked. Midtown was an ominous wasteland, which meant Jerome and Five kept their weapons at the ready.

Abruptly, they came under fire— _literal_ fire. They reeled back from the rush of flames, only to find their path blocked by four familiar figures.

Even Bruce had drawn his pistol, sticking close by Jeremiah’s side. Die together indeed.

“Pengy told us Jim stole you away,” Ivy said cheerfully. “Sent us to look out for you, kinda like insurance. D’you have a permit for those?”

Bridgit gave Ivy a dry, withering glance. “I don’t even have a permit for this flame thrower.”

Selina and Harley were already covering Jerome and Five, the four of them in a wary standoff.

“Make yourselves useful,” Bruce suggested. “Join our escort instead of antagonizing them.”

“There’s no way the four of you decided to do…uh, whatever this is,” Selina said, “without somebody else pulling the strings.”

“Ding ding ding,” Harley said, cackling. “Fifty bucks says they’re Gordon’s men now.”

“Fifty bucks is chump change,” Selina shot back. “Guys, what the hell are you doing?”

“See this?” Jeremiah said, holding up the duffel bag. “It’s the last of my generator cores. We’re going to use it to stall Delta Force.”

“How, throw it like a grenade?” Bridgit retorted. “Not likely. You’d have to use it to bring down something much big— _aha_.”

Bruce met Selina’s horrified gaze. “It’ll wreak havoc on a significant radius, for blocks and blocks. Right in the path they’ll use to advance on us.”

Impressively, Jerome and Five had kept their mouths shut. They had even stuck to the gathering’s periphery, watchful, with weapons ready.

“You’re fucking nuts,” Selina said, “but that’s why Jim gave you the job. We’ll come, too.”

“You speak for everyone now?” Jeremiah asked her wryly, amazed at how seamlessly they’d all begun to walk again. “Everyone with you, at least?”

“The end of the world gets boring as shit,” Ivy sighed, toying with the living greenery that garlanded her arms. “We want in on the action.”

“Arkham wasn’t enough for ya?” Jerome asked, chuckling as he used the barrels of his shotgun to point at what loomed ahead. “That it, Brucie?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Jeremiah said acidly, staring at the tower as they approached. “Then again, you never did have to play at that. Comes easy.”

“So does shooting you,” Five snapped, pointing both of his pistols right at the duffel bag.

“I can fry your asses in a second,” Bridgit said sweetly, “and crater all of us while I’m at it.”

Jeremiah kept his eyes fixed on Five, until Five glanced sourly at Bridgit and lowered his guns.

“Sheesh, sparky, cool it,” Jerome said to Bridgit. “At least wait until we’re closer to the target.”

“There are more of us than should go inside,” Bruce said, halting them in their tracks. “This is a two-person job at most. The rest of you should stay far enough back, in case…” He trailed off, troubled, looking to Jeremiah. “Can you predict which way it will fall?”

“Destabilize a building of this size, and it’ll collapse under its own weight,” Jeremiah said. “There’s no accounting for what debris it’ll shed, or in what precise directions, so…” He shrugged. “Barring unseen variables, we’ll be able to make it back out. _Barely_.”

“Stay here,” Bruce said, looking directly at Selina, even though he was addressing everyone.

“Sure thing,” Selina said, biting her lip. She hugged Bruce, and then hugged Jeremiah, too. “Be careful.” She stepped back from them with a bitter laugh. “If you don’t make it out, I guess you won’t be fakers anymore.”

Unexpectedly, Bruce grabbed Jeremiah’s hand and started for the entrance of Wayne Tower without so much as asking whether or not Jeremiah wanted to say any other provisional goodbyes. The thought lodged itself in Jeremiah’s throat, stinging intolerably.

Jeremiah didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but the front doors open and accessible was _not_ it. As they walked the length of the shadowed lobby, toward the escalators, they passed the glowing embers of a fire that some squatters had left.

“I remember drafting the blueprints for this lobby,” Jeremiah murmured. “For the entire plaza. I was just a teenager when I designed this. I’d been granted early admission to GU Engineering.”

“Some of my earliest memories are playing with Alfred in this lobby,” Bruce said, stopping in front of a marble column, “waiting for my parents to come down these escalators.” He stared at the double portrait that hung there. “This building is the heart of my family’s company. There are things above us my parents spent their entire lives on.”

Jeremiah wanted to stall, but Bruce grabbed the duffel bag from him before he could protest.

“This is it, right?” Bruce went on. “The bomb will weaken the support column and topple the entire building.”

“Are you sure?” Jeremiah asked. “First, we destroyed your home for the sake of our escape, and now…” He felt exactly like the fool Jerome had insinuated he was. “We wanted nothing more than to put a stop to the plan I’d set in motion, _but_ —here we are, using what remains of it to destroy my best work, which also happens to be your family’s legacy.”

“My parents would have sacrificed everything for this city,” Bruce insisted, removing the device from the bag. “They _did_ sacrifice everything, and we destroyed what they left us. If it’ll take destroying the rest and rebuilding stronger than before…” He handed the core to Jeremiah. “So will I.”

Jeremiah shook his head, unable to argue. He approached the column, stared at the photograph for what felt like a respectful enough amount of time, and affixed the device. His idols would never approve of him now.

Bruce nudged him aside, flipping the switch. The bomb hummed to life, eerily blue in the gloom.

“Dear heart,” Jeremiah whispered, mournful and urgent, taking hold of Bruce’s shoulders, “ _run_!”

For the duration of the four seconds it would take the device to charge and flare red with warning, they raced the length of the lobby and tore through the front doors—with just enough time to spare. They had no choice but to make it.

Jeremiah came to a halt and turned in the street, heaving for breath. As the glass behind them shattered, steel and masonry began to fall—and he realized, too late, that Bruce was half a step behind. He hadn’t stopped running, but he’d turned his head.

Bruce wasn’t looking at Jeremiah when the girder fragment struck between his shoulder blades.

“No,” Jeremiah gasped, racing toward Bruce as he fell. “No no no _no_ , we need to—”

The next piece of debris knocked Jeremiah sideways, robbing him of balance, crushing his upper arm on impact. He fell across Bruce, whose parted lips and bared throat were utterly still.

“This can’t…” Jeremiah touched the blood-spatter on Bruce’s cheek. “We made it past…”

Someone seized Jeremiah by his injured shoulder, hauling him onto his back. He lay next to Bruce in the grit and glass, staring dazedly at the pair of grim, familiar faces looming over him. 

“This is the moment you’ve been waiting for,” Jerome said, but he wasn’t talking to Jeremiah.

“Yes,” Five agreed, tilting his head at Bruce, who lay unmoving, and then at Jeremiah. “It is.”

Jeremiah closed his burning eyes. Raw, roaring wind in his ears obscured what they said next.


	15. The Saints

Cradled warm in the dark—insensate for a time, but aware of deep unease—Bruce dreamed.

Beneath the terrible cacophony of the Tower as it fell, he thought he’d heard Jeremiah speak. They were the words of a young man who, had he dared to admit he took after his prescient father, knew his world was about to end.

_Dear heart, run!_

Bruce had done just that, hadn’t he? He’d turned on his heel, all thoughts of his soon-to-be-irretrievable past forgotten, and kept pace with Jeremiah’s mad dash until they cleared the Tower doors and emerged into ashen daylight.

_No. No no no no, we need to—_

The dark had swallowed Bruce before he’d even had the chance to say, _But we made it._

Searing, seeking translation in Bruce’s veins, there were words. More words, different words.

 _Your lover did_ , hissed the formless, sentient sting as it flooded him, _but you did not_.

 _Together or not at all_ , Bruce thought, aware suddenly of his fingers’ convulsive twitch.

 _It was a near thing_ , thrummed the shadows, spreading like a stain, _but he was spared._

 _Then he’s waiting_ , Bruce insisted, flinching, his nerves alight. _I’ll go back for him._

_Even if your form remains_ , vowed the shadows, _you will not awaken unchanged_.

Bruce heaved for breath, finally forcing his eyes open wide. His limbs pulsed with a dull ache.

Jeremiah struggled to lean forward, his fingers catching on oxygen tubes as he touched Bruce’s face.

“Is he awake?” asked a familiar voice, not Jeremiah’s. “She said he’d twitch a lot if it worked.”

“See for yourself,” Jeremiah said, glancing across the room, leaning closer. “Bruce,” he murmured, his lips brushing Bruce’s ear, “welcome back.”

“Jeremiah?” Bruce rasped, reaching for him in turn, and then caught a flash of movement on the other side of his bed. “Selina? From _what_?” 

“Oh, y’know,” Selina said, waving her hand with false dismissiveness. “Death. No big deal.”

Bruce blinked at her questioningly, and then looked to Jeremiah, struggling to turn his head.

“Get whoever you can find,” Jeremiah said to Selina, who left the room right away. He kissed the corner of Bruce’s mouth once they were alone, lingering there. “Whither thou goest,” he whispered. “I was ready to follow you. I begged my brother to finish me off.”

With pained effort, Bruce finally managed to lift his IV-laden hand to Jeremiah’s flushed cheek.

“You begged… _Jerome_?” he asked, moments flickering back like hazily projected slides. “To kill you? Why would you do that, why would you ever—”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Jeremiah soothed, adjusting Bruce’s nasal cannula. “Because you had no breath, no pulse. If your heart stops, so does mine.”

If that was true, then Bruce couldn’t even understand why he was still there. “Jerome didn’t do it?” he asked, attempting to calm down.

“Five seemed keen,” Jeremiah admitted, shifting awkwardly in his chair. His right arm was in a sling, but didn’t appear to be wrapped. “I thought Jerome was going to let him, which…not ideal, I would rather have had my request be honored, _but_ …”

“Jerome had second thoughts about…either of them doing it?” Bruce asked in abject dismay.

“He did, but wouldn’t say it,” Ivy interjected, rushing into the room with Selina on her heels. “I guess Five was about to pull the trigger, but then he _realized_ Jerome wasn’t being straightforward. They came lookin’ for me lickety-split, askin’ me to let Lee do…hell, whatever it was Strange did to _them_ usin’ my blood. We’re lucky Lee was involved in that shit before he decided she was a traitor and shoved her in the cell next to Ed.”

Bruce held still while Ivy examined him. She seemed focused on things Lee wouldn’t check—the elasticity of Bruce’s skin, the texture of his hair, and even the state of his fingernails. He wondered what she was learning.

“Shouldn’t you wait for Dr. Thompkins?” Jeremiah asked when Ivy set her hands on Bruce’s chest and belly, pressing through the fabric of his gown.

“Watch it, buster,” Selina said to Jeremiah, watching with amusement. “You’re gonna be next.”

Bruce was glad Ivy’s prodding didn’t go beyond what seemed like idle curiosity. “Did they…”

“Repair my injuries the same way? Yes,” Jeremiah said, stiffly removing his arm from the sling. “Dr. Thompkins insists that I should wear this anyway. She also thinks Jerome needs extensive PT.”

“My blood is a miracle worker, but not a miracle cure,” Ivy clarified. “It’ll only get you so far.”

“Reviving the dead seems…pretty far,” Bruce said shakily. “Are there any observable effects?”

“Aside from, like, healing and regeneration?” Selina chimed in. “Nah, but it’d be cool if you got her plant powers. Take her down a few pegs.”

“There are too many people in this room,” Lee announced, breezing in with gloves and a mask on. “You two, out,” she said, indicating that Selina and Ivy should leave. “ _You_ ,” she went on, pointing at Jeremiah, “back in your own damn bed.”

Bruce refrained from asking questions while Lee checked his vitals. He was exhausted, and Jeremiah, even settled back in the next bed over, was asking enough for both of them. Getting their beds pushed closer together felt like a victory, even if it only meant touching hands.

Visitors who weren’t Ivy and Selina were a luxury, and each brought different news as the days progressed. Jim, Oswald, Lee, and the Sirens were in logistical talks with the military, as well as with government at the state and federal levels. Harley found that patently hilarious.

“Does that mean we’re effectively reconnected with the mainland?” Bruce asked. “How long?”

Harley scrunched up her face, staring off into the middle distance as she attempted to remember.

“Since the night you guys fucked the military’s plan to squash us like bugs. So…five days.”

Jeremiah, who was trying to sleep, made an irritable noise. “What difference does it make?”

“To you guys, lots,” Harley replied, patting Jeremiah’s hand. “It keeps the hospital stocked.”

Bruce felt a swell of affection as he watched Jeremiah tolerate the contact for only a few seconds before pulling his hand against his chest. Jeremiah rolled to face Bruce, curling in on himself. He wanted her to go away.

“The bed thing’s real cute,” Harley said, winking at Bruce. “Those suckers are uncomfortable, though. Are you gettin’ much sleep?”

“Too much,” Bruce said, reaching across the slight divide to touch Jeremiah’s elbow. “We’re starting to feel useless. Nobody’s giving us enough details about what’s happening.”

“If you can tell us anything about our dubious relatives,” Jeremiah mumbled, “I’d be grateful.”

“They’re still at Jeri’s place,” Harley said. “Avi’s teachin’ Five to mix drinks. Jerome’s started to experiment with video blogging. His commentary on this clusterfuck’s hilarious.”

“You’re still going once a week?” Bruce asked, relieved when Jeremiah curled their fingers together. “Aren’t they under orders to lock down until reunification is complete?”

“Jeri’s following the rules. Easier for her to hide behind a legit excuse to stay closed than admit she loves spending time with the boys more than running her biz. Barbara and Tabitha, though? Not a chance. I wish Jim luck shuttin’ them down.”

“I see,” Bruce said, offering her a smile as Jeremiah dozed, still clinging to Bruce’s hand.

When Jeri showed up to visit them forty-eight hours later, Bruce wondered if Harley had told her that he and Jeremiah had been asking questions. After setting a slightly wilted bouquet on Bruce’s bedside tray, she dragged the room’s lone armchair up alongside Jeremiah’s bed and removed something from her velvet coat. She'd brought the smell of damp earth with her.

“Black market trade between here and the mainland is intense,” Jeri said, handing the scarf-wrapped parcel to Jeremiah. “Folks are stumblin’ over themselves to pay for memorabilia of the savagery out here. Artifacts, remnants… _proof_.”

Jeremiah stared at the mud stained, garishly stickered black Moleskine as the scarf fell away.

“Did you buy this from someone,” he said slowly, “or did you go to Stoker and scavenge it?”

“The latter,” Jeri admitted. “Thought I’d have you authenticate before givin’ it back to J. If it’s a forgery or some kinda hoax, I figured I’d sell it to some gullible schmuck. My boys could use a nest egg. They ain’t got stocks out the wazoo like you two.”

Bruce watched Jeremiah flip through his brother’s journal for the first time since that day at the bunker when he’d revealed himself. He closed the battered book and hesitantly returned it to Jeri.

“It’s the real thing, all right,” Jeremiah said. “Jerome would probably like to have it back.”

Bruce frowned at Jeri. “Why did you bother to bring it here? Why not show it to Jerome?”

“Kid, you still ask way too many questions,” Jeri said. “I just came from Stoker, that’s why.”

“Explains the roses,” Jeremiah said. “1-800-FLOWERS isn’t delivering out here yet, I take it?”

Jeri got to her feet, tucking the journal inside her coat. “Now that they’ve realized they wanna live a life, they’re tryin’ to figure out _how_. Maybe you two should get on that.”

Once she was gone, Bruce crawled from his bed over to Jeremiah’s and settled beside him.

“If that’s what people think of Gotham now,” he said, “we’ll have our work cut out for us.”

Jeremiah looked endearingly shocked at this turn of events, as if he’d forgotten Lee had finally removed Bruce’s IV that morning. They were both eating more or less normally, although still in smaller quantities than the medical staff preferred.

“We have more pressing issues than that,” Jeremiah said, stroking Bruce’s hair, “such as…” He shifted until Bruce could settle half-sprawled on top of him. “Where will we go?”

“There’s always the penthouse,” Bruce suggested. “You liked it when we were stranded there.”

“Yes, but once we cleared out,” Jeremiah muttered with obvious distaste, “the circus moved in.”

“I don’t think they want to go back,” Bruce said. “They’re happy enough at Celestial Garden.”

“Jeri’s mothering will get old soon enough,” said Jeremiah. “They’ll want their own space.”

Bruce closed his eyes and nuzzled Jeremiah’s warm neck, pensive. “I’d rather see them with someone like her than institutionalized. They’re adults, but…won’t be suited to full independence when the status quo is restored.”

“Half a year in lawless chaos helped, though,” Jeremiah said. “They looked out for each other.”

Bruce realized the irony of Jeri’s role. “Jeri used to idolize the danger of Jerome’s Maniax persona. Now, she’s trying to keep him safe.”

Jeremiah laughed, shaking the bed. “Isn’t that what Alfred’s going to try to do to us?”

“We’ll be far less vulnerable than your brother and Five,” he agreed, “but…yes, he will.”

Kissing wasn’t something they’d been able to indulge in since being hospitalized, let alone extensive physical contact. Bruce took hold of Jeremiah’s fretful hand where it rested on his waist, guiding it down to the back of his thigh.

“This is where you were shot the night the bridges blew,” Bruce said, molding his hand to Jeremiah’s right shoulder. “The bullet-graze.”

Jeremiah only looked startled for a few seconds, and then broke into a wide, surrendering grin.

“Maybe I ought to stop fighting it,” he said, sounding almost whimsical. “My birthright.”

“Jerome takes after your mother,” Bruce said, “but you’re like your father.” He couldn’t help smiling back. “Prophecies, visions?”

“Your life’s practically governed by them,” Jeremiah said with a hint of sarcasm. “And you _are_ my cup of tea.”

Bruce bent his head again, tracing Jeremiah’s jawline with absent fingers. “You’re mine, too.”

“The charge nurse will be making rounds soon,” Jeremiah whispered, with a hint of challenge.

“We could always lock the door,” Bruce said, but fell right back into kissing him like before.

Under the doubled-up blankets and scratchy sheets, they were quieter, gentler than they’d been in a while. Their relative lack of clothing made touching each other easy. Bruce watched Jeremiah’s face, stroking him at a steady, determined pace. Judging by the crease in Jeremiah’s brow, by how fiercely he panted and swore, it would take longer than usual.

“Relax,” Bruce said quietly, pausing to skim his hand up to Jeremiah’s chest, scratch teasingly light fingertips over his nipples, and then skim back down again. “Does it feel—do you want—”

Jeremiah licked his lips, shifting so he could rest his head against Bruce’s shoulder. “Slower.”

“Okay,” Bruce agreed, breath hitching on a gasp when Jeremiah stroked him in turn. “Wait—”

“Let me,” Jeremiah said, his tone pleased when Bruce closed his eyes and shifted his hips into Jeremiah’s touch. “That way, we can—oh, so _close_ ,” he crooned when Bruce rolled fully onto him, impatient. “Nothing like— _ah_ , there, it’s—nostalgia.”

Bruce nodded frantically, glad when Jeremiah put his hands to better use, running them down Bruce’s back. They didn’t usually get hung up on being young and impatient, especially not when what they needed most was comfort.

“I left you,” Bruce panted, tears stinging his eyes. “I looked back. I shouldn’t have looked—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Jeremiah rasped, hitching Bruce tighter against him. “I would’ve followed.”

Tears hadn’t been unusual with them from the start, but it was rare for both of them to succumb at once. It didn’t ruin the mood as much as magnify it—leaving them raw, vulnerable in a way that was delicate and strange.

Jeremiah came first. He wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck, biting his hand to keep quiet.

Bruce shook with him, his own climax so sudden and intense he thought his heart might stop.

“Is there a name,” Jeremiah said after a while, startling Bruce from his sated dozing, “for this like there’s…Mile-High Club for planes?”

“Name for this as in…” Bruce tried to gather his thoughts, but his mind was as hazily content as his body. “As in doing this in a hospital?”

“It’s more of a field hospital,” Jeremiah went on, “without the usual protocols, so…maybe not.”

Bruce shrugged, burying his face in Jeremiah’s neck. He pressed kiss after drowsy kiss there.

“You’re too much,” Jeremiah sighed fondly, raking his fingers through Bruce’s unkempt hair.

“Not for you,” Bruce yawned, wondering just how long their illusion of privacy would last.

Jeremiah caught his breath, holding it as if some abrupt, unwelcome realization had landed.

“Was it different this time?” he asked softly. “Do you…feel anything more, anything less…”

“The way it felt?” Bruce asked, not sure whose gown he was bunching beneath the covers to soak up the residual mess. “No. Did it for you?”

Relieved, Jeremiah brushed at Bruce’s cheek. “It felt like you always do, Bruce. Like home.”


	16. The Temple

_Please oversee the move?_ Bruce had asked nervously. So, in resigned acquiescence, that was all Alfred had signed on to do. 

However, the second he pulled up behind Celestial Garden, he suspected he’d end up far more involved. The trio waiting there was in the midst of loading various luggage and plastic shopping bags into the back of Bruce’s Mustang. It was a relief to see the car in one piece.

“Mr. Pennyworth,” Jeri said, offering Alfred her hand as he got out of his own vehicle. “It’s a pleasure. Bruce didn’t mention you when I first met him, but it’s obvious what a brave young man you’ve raised.”

“You mean stubborn,” Alfred replied, shaking her hand, aware of their audience. “Charmed.”

Jerome finished loading a backpack and a duffel bag into the Mustang, neatly shutting the boot.

“Hey, I remember you,” he said, approaching with his hands clasped behind his back. He shot a glance over his shoulder at Five, who hadn’t moved from where he stood on the other side of the sports car. “The butler, in the library, with...nah, never mind. That was my bad.”

Alfred nodded stiffly, grateful Jerome didn’t expect a handshake. “I see you’re keeping well.”

Five made a surly show of opening the Mustang’s passenger-side door, got in, and slammed it.

“Don’t mind princess,” Jerome said. “He’s not gonna let go of the bad blood as fast. C’est la vie.”

Narrowing his eyes, Alfred peered through the Mustang’s windscreen. Five was glowering.

“I reckon he’s not willing to own up to the part that was _his_ bad. You, though—you’ve got enough to answer for on your own account,” Alfred said, folding his arms. “Somehow, Master Bruce seems hell-bent on forgiveness. I wouldn’t squander that if I were you.”

Jeri cleared her throat, opening the driver’s side door, joining Five. “Get a move on, guys.”

“Hang on,” Jerome said, gesturing emphatically. “We’re havin’ a moment here. Overdue.”

Alfred took a moment to study Jerome, taking stock from head to toe. The scars on his face had healed as much as scars of that kind ever did, faded to the same pallor as his lightly-freckled skin. He dressed like some parody of a dandy these days—loud ties, collared shirts, matching waistcoats and trousers. His habitual white gloves were conspicuously absent.

“Best you don’t try anything,” Alfred warned, getting back in his car. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Jerome turned out his pockets methodically, and then unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them up.

“There’s not a weapon on me above the ankles,” he said, hands in front of him. “Scout’s honor.”

“No time for this,” Jeri sighed, revving the Mustang’s engine. “Ride with him. Meet us there.”

Jerome shrugged at her, turning back to Alfred as he set his pockets in order. “That kosher?”

“Peachy,” Alfred muttered, unlocking the passenger-side door. “Get in before I change my mind.”

Jerome waited until the trip was well underway to start tapping his fingers along the window.

“So, uh…how’s the big construction project?” he asked. “Is my bro drivin’ ya bonkers yet?”

Alfred’s thoughts turned to whatever dramatics he was surely missing that morning. The nearer the Manor’s reconstruction drew to completion, the fussier its engineer grew. Interpreting the archival blueprints faithfully was even more of a concern for Jeremiah than it was for Bruce.

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Alfred agreed. “I’m inclined to be forgiving, what with the perfectionism and the amends he’s trying to make.”

Jerome glanced sidelong at Alfred. Without comment, he turned his attention forward to make sure Jeri and Five were still ahead of them.

Alfred couldn’t help but feel he’d been a bit harsh with his implication. This wasn’t the disturbed, unhinged young man he remembered from the gala and the night of the Boardwalk Circus. Maybe this was what hid behind all those smashed mirrors.

“Seems you’re making a decent effort yourself,” Alfred went on, breaking the awkward silence.

Jerome darted his eyes back toward Alfred. “At what? Becoming a decent, upstanding citizen?”

“At fixing your messes, mate,” Alfred said, following Jeri as she turned sharply into the parking garage beneath the penthouse. “Taking some responsibility for your actions.” He bit his tongue before he risked touching on matters too sensitive, and then thought better of his hesitation. “You do realize sparing your brother’s life and saving Bruce’s a few months back, that was…bloody near honorable.”

Jerome rolled his eyes while Alfred parked next to Jeri, as if having been caught at a good deed was far worse than at a transgression.

“Don’t get used to it, Jeeves,” Jerome said, shoving the passenger-side door open. “I did it for Five. No amount of fun woulda been worth ending up in Arkham 2.0, or whatever shitshow crops up to replace Indian Hill.”

Alfred shrugged and got out of the car, following Jerome to the back of the Mustang. Jeri and Five hadn’t emerged yet; they appeared to be engaged in heated conversation. Jerome’s face brightened when Jeri opened the boot for them.

“Deny all you like, but I’ve got a hunch Jeremiah had something to do with it, too,” Alfred said.

Jerome gathered as many of the bags as he could cram on his arms, visibly struggling with them.

“Whatever you’ve gotta tell yourself to get through today without putting a bullet in my brain,” Jerome replied, already headed for the elevator.

Five pushed his door open, rushing toward Jerome. “Jeez, what are you _doing_? Give me…”

Jeri got out of the Mustang, too, coming to stand beside Alfred. She watched the boys vanish into the elevator, her expression wistful.

“You’re right about what he did,” Jeri said quietly, her voice echoing in the cool, shadowy space.

“Shame,” Alfred said, grabbing some bags from the boot, “losing what he and his brother could’ve been without what drove them apart, isn’t it?”

Jeri collected what luggage was left after Alfred had taken his share. She led him to the elevator.

“Nature or nurture? Nah, you know it’s not _just_ one or the other. The twins were always gonna be some kinda screwed up. So was Five. Hell, even Bruce wasn’t gonna get off the hook,” Jeri said, and then took a deep breath. “It’s just that the two you ended up with were a damn sight luckier on the nurturing front than the ones I got. Don’t you fuckin’ forget it.”

Alfred experienced a surge of fury so intense that, for the rushing half-minute it took them to reach the top floor, he held his breath. When the doors opened, he released it and followed Jeri out. The hall was dark and empty, which meant the boys were already inside the penthouse.

“Tell me one thing before we go in,” Alfred said, halting Jeri in her tracks. “About Five, is he…”

“Is he what?” Jeri challenged. “There’s a lotta ways you could take that question. Most ain’t great.”

Sighing heavily, Alfred continued toward the penthouse door. “I’d like to know how he’s doing. I tried to be kind the times he was under Master Bruce’s roof, but I didn’t always succeed. Can’t help but think I failed him.”

“Kathryn and the Court failed him. _Strange_ failed him,” Jeri said, continuing at a slow pace. “You messed up when you first met him, and then you tried real hard. I give you credit for that. As long as Five was at Wayne Manor, he was off the streets. Wasn’t in a lab or some other place hell-bent on molding him, controlling him…” She trailed off, knocking on the door when they reached it. “Hey, J! Miss Thing! Open up!”

Five answered the door. The way Five’s hair was pinned up reminded Alfred painfully of how Martha had often worn hers, but more disheveled. He wore a hoodie over his bleach-stained t-shirt, along with a knee-length denim skirt and leggings—all black.

“Took long enough,” Five said to Jeri, and then gave Alfred a hard look. “Why are you here?”

“Bruce asked me to walk through,” Alfred replied. “Take note of what needs changing. If you have thoughts on the matter, now’s your chance.”

“You call these walls? No imagination,” Jerome chided, stepping up behind Five. “We’re gonna paint ’em. You’ll get an itemized list of colors.”

“Smashing,” Alfred deadpanned, following Jeri as she pushed past them. “Anything else immediate?”

“We need new mattresses,” Five said, already tearing apart one of the backpacks. “Sheets, too.”

From what Alfred knew of the penthouse’s revolving occupancy during Gotham’s months of isolation, he could only imagine why the boys might insist on _that_. Room by room, Five made outrageous requests, and Jerome would just nod in agreement.

“Dead set on making it their own, I see,” Alfred told Jeri while the two of them took inventory of the sparse cupboards. “I suppose they spent enough time here before to get ideas about what constitutes their idea of cozy.”

“They spend plenty of time shuttin’ out the world,” Jeri said, pulling several boxes of Twinings Earl Grey from one of the shopping bags. “They make their own. I don’t blame ’em, not after what they’ve been through.”

Reluctantly, Alfred left her to the task. “I’ll give them a final chance to make demands, then.”

Following the boys’ voices back to the living room was easy enough. Realizing they’d stepped out onto the balcony was nerve-wracking.

Alfred paused when he realized their backs were turned to him. They were conversing quietly, heads bent together, admiring the city view.

“Streets aren’t like they used to be,” Jerome was saying. “Can’t steal pretty stuff for my baby.”

“That’s okay,” Five said, turning them so they stood face to face. “More of a challenge, right?”

“I’m gonna make sure Brucie knows what expensive taste you’ve got, precious,” Jerome vowed.

“Alfred already knows,” Five said. He draped his arms over Jerome’s shoulders and kissed him.

They were less shy about risking indecency than Bruce and Jeremiah, but somehow the more chaste for what particular restraint they _did_ show. Five shielded Jerome from whomever might glimpse them from below, and Jerome clasped Five against him with chivalrous care.

Alfred turned his back on the scene and went back to the kitchen, simply poking his head inside.

Jeri turned from the cabinets with a lopsided smile. “They’re already way too busy for ya, huh?”

“If anything particular comes up, you know how to reach me,” Alfred said, handing her his card.

“If you ever change career paths, lemme know,” Jeri replied, waving him out. “I’m gonna need way better security at the club. Don’t be a stranger.”

“The car,” Alfred said over his shoulder, as an afterthought. “I’ll be sending someone for it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jeri said, continuing with her task. “Bruce said he’d pay me. I almost forgot!”

As he took the elevator back down to the parking garage, Alfred had the feeling he knew exactly where the funds would go. He supposed Bruce understood what he’d taken on—but, even if he didn’t, Jeremiah most certainly did.

Alfred’s drive back to the Palisades was peaceful. He hadn’t stayed in Midtown nearly as long as Bruce likely expected he would, but he’d been intruding on an affair in which his direct involvement was a detriment. As he pulled through the property’s front gate, he couldn’t help but marvel.

Thirteen weeks. That was all it had taken for Alfred’s boys to mobilize and bring the project to a point where every structure on the grounds had at least the outward appearance of completion. He couldn’t help but think Thomas and Martha would be proud.

Even Alfred expressing his misgivings hadn’t been enough to dissuade them from staying on the grounds. Alfred hadn’t imagined Jeremiah would be much for roughing it, but being young and recklessly in love was as much a source of strength for him as it was for Bruce.

Three weeks in, the garage had been the first structure to reach full completion. Alfred had arrived one morning to find they’d struck their tent and moved inside. Sleeping bags, sheets, and pillows strewn on an admittedly plush queen mattress didn’t seem at odds with the chaos of the boys’ makeshift workspace. The French press and whiskey decanter showed signs of heavy use.

Alfred had gone back to Lucius’s flat that evening and asked where the hell they’d lost their sense of adventure. Dryly, Lucius had said he was sure it had fallen behind the bed, so Alfred suggested that they spend the evening attempting to retrieve it.

“Hey!” Selina shouted, rushing toward the car, snapping Alfred out of his reverie. “Slow down!”

Alfred parked in the patchy grass, which would be one of the last details the boys would see to.

“Jeremiah must be in a decent mood, seeing as they’ve let you hang about,” he observed, feeling better already. “If not, what are the damages?”

“Let’s just say we’re lucky it’s Bruce who fucked up the coffee and not me,” Selina said wryly.

“Where are they?” Alfred asked, getting out of the car. “Anything the crew needs from me?”

“The crew’s fine, especially with Bridgit on hand,” Selina replied. “She’s somethin’ else.”

“So you tell me, at every opportunity,” Alfred said, ribbing her. “Where are the boys?”

“Oh, sorry,” Selina said. “Jeremiah went all crankypants, so Bruce took him for a walk.”

“Thanks, right,” Alfred sighed, suddenly sure he knew exactly where the boys had gone.

The woods leading down to where Bruce’s property met the river had been unaffected by the blast of months ago. Alfred navigated the trail as soundlessly as he could, unable to castigate Selina for tagging along. Her footsteps were even lighter than his.

After several minutes, the trees opened onto a clearing Alfred’s grieving heart knew too well.

“There,” Selina said, pointing to the mausoleum’s low, broad marble steps. “Your lost nerds.”

Bruce and Jeremiah sat side by side, leaning shoulder to shoulder, lost in quiet conversation.

“Maybe we ought to leave them to it,” Alfred said to Selina. “Still atoning for what they did.”

“The Tower’s gonna take longer to rebuild,” Selina said, nudging Alfred’s shoulder. “Maybe they’ll think twice about bombs from now on.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Alfred lamented, elbowing her fondly, “but at least they’ve got us to keep them on the straight and narrow, eh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Jerome’s diary is a significant artifact within the text, I have made what I believe is the first full transcription of all 12 pages (across 6 screencaps) that we see Jeremiah flip through in S4. [**You can find it here**](https://irisbleufic.tumblr.com/post/619252662418964480/jerome-valeskas-diary-full-transcription-master).


End file.
